


Total Knock Out

by JeffersonStarships



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: #TonyStarkisIron-Dad#ChangeMyMind, A meme and Vine tribute, AU, Angst and fluff and angst and hurt/comfort, Consequences for our actions? What is that?, Creating my own cannon, Humor, I murdered Uncle Ben AND Aunt May before the start. (Insert evil laugh), My working title was ‘Drop Out’ it was supposed to be a high school fic… it took some turns., One-Sided Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, PTSD is a hell of a drug, Panic Attacks, See if you can find him., Spider-girl has SpiderGwen costume. (I like that one more), Strangers to Lovers, There is a teeny- tiny glimpse of Bob from hydra! I love that little muffin., When you write help cope with mental illnesses, a love triangle, and a slow start, comedic relief is the only thing keeping me sane at this point, mostly from the boxes, oooh, or angle? lol, slooooooow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 78,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeffersonStarships/pseuds/JeffersonStarships
Summary: (The title means nothing in particular other than I couldn't use my working one.)The sky shimmered as the sun peaked out over the spiked skyline, glinting off the glass and rainbowing a varying spray of blues, yellows, oranges, and pinks on the clouds.It was a beautiful sight.Peter groaned miserably.“F***,” Clint hissed as he wrapped another one of Peter’s many wounds in haphazard gauze.As it was, Clint was the least injured of them, and he was covered in bandages and bruises. Sure, some of those he had started with, but he was hardly in any shape to be playing field nurse.Peter used his good leg to kick Clint away, “Go help Daredevil,” his breath hitches as Clint tapes down the edge of his makeshift bandage, “He doesn’t have a healing factor. I do. Leave. Me. Alone.”“Dammit,” Clint growls slapping at Peter’s ankle, “You’re going to bleed out- Stop- Stop kicking me!!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oooooooh boy. Where to begin? 
> 
> This is the monster of a fic I have been working on for forever. I’m still working on it so updates are going to be slow. This is a sprawling fic and it meanders like a MoFo. It has a kinda episodic feeling to it and that’s kind of why I like it so much, but I know it won’t be for everyone. It has so much filler, OMFG, but you get to actually spend some time with Ned, Harry, MJ, Karen, Tony, and Wade which was why I started writing in the first place. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a much darker fic, and the ending will be if i ever get you there, so be prepared. 
> 
> There will also be lots of tropes, I wish i were more sorry about it, but it is what it is.
> 
> The italicized quotes at the beginning of each chapter are my own silly poems and such, I know not all of them are the best and are a bit cheesy, take them how you will.
> 
> Last but not least, leave comments. Questions, comments, complaints. I want to know what you think. I WILL be taking things to heart so be gentle, but i would like to know what does and does not work for you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

_ I’ve been lonely all my life, waiting for you _

_ I’d spend all my time lonely, if it meant you’d come home. _

_ We have always been coming as the other goes. _

_ We’re always lonely. _

_ For once, we can stay? _

_ Just forget we’re supposed to be alone. _

~~~~.~~~~

It wasn’t raining, but maybe it should have been. It wasn’t dark, but Spider-Man wished it was. Maybe then he couldn’t’ve seen the man’s face so clearly. His stock-still face. A face frozen in fear, in death. Like a photograph.

Spider-Man stood over him. His knees weak, but holding. His tears present, yet unshed.

He felt hollow.

There wasn’t a sense of justice or a leveling of the playing field.

The world around them was just as it had been, birds chirping, cars whizzing passed on the street on the other side of the warehouse, the call of boats further up the waterfront the warehouse was pressed up against. The world, not including Spider-Man or this dead man, remained unchanged. They knew not what he had done, or who he had killed.

_ With great power… _

He had used that power, but it didn’t feel right as the blood wept from wounds incurred both from being kicked through a plate-glass window, and from a six story drop from said window.

Small tremors sizzled up Spider-Man’s arms and legs as he felt something inside him die. The little piece of innocence he would never be able to reclaim seemed to cry as it faded.

He hadn’t meant to kick the man out the window, he was just so furious. _ He _ had killed Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Peter Parker had no one now. And Spider-Man hadn’t restrained his strength as well as he had taught himself, and before he could even blink, the man was flying out the window.

_ Spider-Man had froze. _

It was not a happy thought, or a comforting one. It felt like a cop out.

He was a… hero? -Was he still a hero?- He didn’t know anymore.

He’d only been wearing his suit for a few months since he moved into Mrs. Leeds’, his foster mom’s, house. It was mostly a compilation of his sweat gear, red socks so his feet could stick to things, with a pair of goggles over a red face mask that he had sharpied a wed design over, giving himself a terrible headache every night because of his Super-Sniffer to match is super hearing, sight, strength (complete with unearned six pack and toned arms and legs than got better the more Peter tested his powers), flexibility (great for gymnastics) and healing (which made him hungrier than he’d ever been in his life no matter how much food he stuffed his gullet with). Plus, his feet and hands were sometimes sticky.

He’d rather not mention the little slits in his wrists that when he applied pressure to the glands hidden under the skin shot out a wed like fluid that kinda made Peter sick to his stomach because it smelled like his… it smelled like… it… well, like his bodily… _ fluids _… please, don’t make him explain further.

[Read: Jizz.]

{Oooh, how _ nasty _. I feel all tingly just thinking about it.}

[Will you shut it? I was trying to keep the readers informed, not give you opportunity to flirt with a fifteen-year-old. He can’t even hear you anyway, we’re Wade’s boxes not Spidey’s.]

{So, we’re just showing up in the first chapter and interrupting the flow, for no reason?}

[I think the author was going for some sort of comedic relief, or foreshadowing. This kind of thing is going to happen later in the story, for purposely inane reasons.]

{UHG! Well, I just feel used now, and not in the fun way!}

[Let’s just get back to watching Spidey.]

Peter wasn’t sure he was ever a hero. Maybe he had just always been fooling himself.

Looking down at the man’s body, Peter couldn’t bring himself to touch him. He deserved to die for killing Ben and May for practically nothing. For a nearly empty wallet, and their wedding rings. But Spider-Man shouldn’t have been the one to do it. He can’t be judge, jury, and executioner.

After a few moments of contemplating his place in the world, Spider-Man realized how detached he felt from his soul. How detached he felt from himself.

Was this shock?

Was that why he has shaking so hard? Why he was he felt like a ghost? So cold? So alone?

Before he knew what he was doing, Spider-Man found himself a few dozen blocks away from the warehouse, on a roof he didn’t immediately recognize as the sun set.

His feet kinda hurt, like he’d run on foot all this way, and he was _ panting _.

Jesus Christ, how fast had he run?

There was a weird whooshing noise behind him, and Peter turned quickly, his senses flaring. He half expected the Green Goblin, they hadn’t ever faced off, but Peter thought that noise could have been similar to the one he heard on the news from time to time.

Peter was completely not expecting who he found, “You’re Iron-Man.” his voice hollow.

Is- is he here to arrest Peter for killing that man?

Tony Stark in his full playboy, genius self just let his suit shift open, so he could step out onto the roof in his nice suit and cashmere smile, “So I’ve seen a few of your videos online, kid. You’re suit sucks. Want a new one?”

It feels like the world is shimmering. Which is a weird thing for a world to do. They don’t normally do that, do they?

“Wooooah, woah, kid take a seat,” Tony Stark says and grabs Peter’s arm, making him flinch so hard his knees almost give out. Making a shushing noise, Tony Stark leads Peter to a wayward crate and sits Peter down, pushing his head between his knees, “I know I’m Iron-Man and everything, kid, but jeez, no passing out on me, okay? I’m an inventor and Superhero, not a nurse.”

“What the hell is going on?” Peter slurs like he’s drunk.

Tony kneels down in front of him and stares into Peter’s goggles, placing both hands on Peter’s shoulders, “Come on, kid. Big breaths, okay? In and out, yeah? In-“ both of them take big inhales, “And out-“ they exhale. “Come on, keep going in… and out…”

After a few minutes of deep breathing, Tony watching Peter closely the whole time as he holds his shoulders, Peter starts to realize he’s been shaking like a leaf the entire time, and that _ Tony Stark _ just talked him down from a major panic attack.

He feels stupid, and like a kid, and scared beyond his wits.

This should be the greatest day of Peter’s life, he’s getting to meet his hero, the man Peter hopes he can be one day. But not even an hour ago, Peter murdered someone. He- he- he’s the kind of person Iron-Man throws in jail.

“Am I in trouble?” Peter asks lamely.

Stark huffs out a tired laugh, “No, kid. You’re not in trouble.”

“What are you doing here?” Peter’s voice sounds so young to his ears, so tiny compared to how it usually is.

The older man huffs out another laugh, “You missed the whole bit there where I offered to make you a new suit?”

“New… suit?”

“Yeah, new suit.” Stark smiles in clear amusement.

Peter wrinkles his nose, his brain suddenly attempting to come back online. “What’s the catch? Why me?”

Tony lets go of Peter’s shoulders finally and looks Peter’s hunched frame up and down before reaching out and grabbing Peter’s hand, turning it over to reveal the web shooters Peter has been working on to replace his organic ones, because while the natural webs themselves were super strong and could fully hold Peter’s weight and then some, they were no doubt lased with his DNA and the feeling of shooting the webs was… _ intimate _ on Peter’s new anatomy. His wrists sensitive and responsive in not always pleasant ways to shooting webs.

“This is why,” he says. “I know what it’s like being a vigilante like you’ve been. I know it’s hard and painful, and everyone is ungrateful or talks down to you. And I know that if you’re still doing this after months of doing it, you’re not going to stop. You’re not going to stop, are you?”

Peter shakes his head, before today, being a hero, tracking down the man who murdered his only family, or just criminals in general, was the only thing that made him feel real. Made him feel alive.

“Yeah, I get it, kid. You wanna make a difference. You want to help people, and those powers of yours give you a means to do it. But this,” He holds up Peter’s wrist again and points at the shooter, “This is hardcore engineering, hardcore design, and the webs you make synthetically are genius level work. And while I don’t know your secret identity, or even your age, I know you’re still a kid and this is grown up level stuff that your cracking out of your parent’s basement.”

Peter feels tears leak from the corners of his eyes at the same time he blushes hard at the complement in Stark’s voice. “Th- thanks,” Peter stutters out and Stark beams at him.

“But as cool as these are, I think you are already looking for an upgrade, and no one goes into this business unscathed and the rest of the suit sucks. If you’re going to be doing the Superheroing thing, I’d rather you at least make it to adulthood, so the world can get a piece of all that wonderful brain you got kicking in there.” He taps on Peter’s forehead.

“What’s the catch?” There’s always a catch isn’t there?

If it is possible, Stark beams harder before stowing his cheesy grin for a more serious smirk, “Listen, as much as I want to know who’s under the mask, I’m not gonna ask okay? You tell me when you’re ready. But otherwise, I want to be your only source of gear. You need anything, you come to me, and we’ll work it out, capiche? Also, I want to by your mentor.”

“My mentor?” Peter blinks.

“Yeah, kid, you got heart. But you got style too. Plus, I want in on your little wrist gadgets, you can keep the sticky fluid stuff, that is a dangerous thing to give away, so you keep it and craft it in your basement or wherever, but I think we can improve the wrist thingies.”

It felt like the world was spinning again, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. It felt like kinda for the better. Like it was going in a way that actually helped.

Peter was going to get a new suit, new gear, a mentor who is one of -if not _ the _\- smartest people on the planet, and all he had to do was… be loyal to Tony, to be his protégé.

“I don’t know what you get out of this,” Peter admitted.

Stark snorted, “Does it matter right now? You in or out, Kid?” He sounded final.

“In.” Peter answered automatically. Whether or not he deserved it, if Tony Stark, AKA Iron-Man AKA Peter’s childhood/stillhood hero, thought he was a hero, then he was going to fucking try to live up to that standard.

He was going to make Ben proud. Make May proud.

Be a good man…

If that was even still an option anymore.

3 Years Later

Peter is perched in the edge of the moderately sized, red brick apartment building holding the pressure on a cut across his thigh with some napkins he swiped out of a 24-hour taco place just trying to stem off some bleeding until his healing factor decides to Step Up Its Fucking Game, because come on! Little help here, man?

Really, he isn’t all that annoyed at the healing factor, mostly with the fact that he had to rely on it at all. Sure, there were ten guys in the alley, and only one of them got in a slice with their knife while Peter had been dodging Literal Bullets, but Peter should have been able to dodge even the knife. That’s what all the training was for. That’s what doing this for three years was for. He had the skill, he just had to concentrate.

A huge yawn ripped Peter from his thoughts and he lifted a hand to his face unconsciously to cover his mouth even though he was still wearing his mask, and he almost wiped at his tired eyes before he remembered the mask was still in place. Jesus, what time is it?

As if on cue, the sun breaks across the New York skyline, a ray of light shooting directly into Peter’s eyes. “Shit!” he complained, squinting away from the light. Then, turned back down to his injured leg to check the blood flow under the soaked napkins, it needed a few more minutes. He blew out a sigh and cast his vision lower, down to the street below.

The building was only five or six stories high and he didn’t even have to tap into his advanced hearing to hear the crisp sounds of the people walking down on the sidewalk outside.

His eyes catch on a red and black suit, the spandex and leather of it stretched over the shoulders of a mountain of a man, his size even from a distance, easily distinctive from the rest of the population.

Peter might not have even blinked twice at the guy, people cosplay as Spider-Man all the time but something about him set his senses off, maybe it’s the swords strapped to the man’s back… or the guns at his pouched belt… and to his thighs… Anyway, he looked far too armed to be ignored.

“Hey, um, Karen,” he called out softly to his suit’s AI. “Who’s that?”

Down below he can hear the man talking loudly to himself, “WHAT!? Ryan Reynolds does _ not _ play us in the movies? He’s such a massive douche- Shut your fucking lying mouth!“

“His name is Deadpool,” Karen supplies curtly, “Contract killer and mutant with a confirmed kill count in the hundreds. He is known to be armed and extremely dangerous. Marked: ‘do not approach’ even if he is technically an employee with SHEILD.”

“Armed and dangerous,” Peter scoffs eyeing all the weapons, then the man’s formidable build.

Down below, Deadpool’s face turns up to Peter’s as he walks, and he gives a half-hearted salute to the web-slinger who can only watch the merc go in a sleepy, almost detached sort of way. Peter glances at his wad of napkin’s, the wound wet but not bleeding, not yet scabbed over. “Should I go after him?” he asks through a yawn. “He might need some help or something.”

“You have school in just under an hour,” Karen supplies. “Maybe I can call the Avengers or SHIELD?”

Deadpool disappears around a corner, “Naw, let him go. Keep track of him though, yeah? Let me know if he gets into any trouble?”

“Will do, Sir.”

Peter swings back to his foster family’s house before they all wake up for the day. Technically, they no longer have any legal reason to keep him around, because he turned eighteen in December last month, but Mrs. Leeds agreed to let him stick around until school ends if he helped pick up the monetary slack on groceries every once in a while, which Peter thought was more than fair. But Mrs. Leeds really is a sweet lady, Peter’s sure she would have let him stay even if he didn’t have the internship to pay for groceries.

So, he’s as quiet as a mouse when he sneaks back into the house to take a nap before he has to get up for school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is gearing up to be over ninety thousand words. Comment of all kinds appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_ I’ll always be caught in you. _

_ In all the small things that you do, that you say. _

_ Dreams are never sweeter than when you’re in them. _

_ You’re a beautiful place to be. _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  


“Hello, Peter,” Karen said with a smile in her voice as Peter replaced his earpiece. To the outside world it looked like a discreet hearing aid (he’d needed hearing aid since pretty much birth, but his spider bite had healed his partial hearing loss), but Stark had fitted him with a coms system that allowed Peter to communicate with Karen. He was only supposed to use the AI when he was in trouble or working as Spider-Man, but what Tony didn’t know, didn’t kill him.

Peter never turned it off, though Karen and he had learned not to communicate when there are other people in the room or if Peter is at work, least people start to think he’s crazy when he inevitably replied to her.

“I missed you too,” Peter smirked a he slipped his glasses where Karen could see out the hidden camera in the frame farther up his nose, and compulsively readjusted his wrist bands where Karen could keep track of his vitals, and his mechanical web-shooters could hide inside the inconspicuous metal and leather near-jewelry design that he wore everywhere in his civie clothes.

“Any news on Deadpool he asked as he crashed down the stairs, pulling on his bright-yellow (supposedly gold), extra-special school sweater. It’s a few sizes too big, since it is actually  _ Harry’s _ bright-yellow (supposedly gold), extra-special school sweater, but Peter lost his yellow blazer in a back alley somewhere in Manhattan. Oops. So, he had to borrow this one until he could afford to buy a new blazer from the student store when he gets paid. Though Harry had offered quite a few times to buy one for him, but Peter refused his charity profusely.

“No, once he managed to defy the tracking, he has not been spotted since.”

Peter shrugged, “Probably a good thing he works for Shield now, huh?”

“Better to have the highly skilled, very dangerously unstable mercenary working for shield than the completion? Yeah, I would hope so.” Peter snorted at Karen’s sarcastic tone. He loves that he taught her sarcasm.

Most days Peter and Ned, Peter’s foster brother and friend, left for school at the same time, but on Friday’s Ned left an hour earlier for his Robotics Club meetings. So, he kicked up his skateboard by the door and yelled a “See you after school, Mrs. Leeds” to his not so legal caretaker over his shoulder to travel on his lonesome to school.

She called over her cup of coffee in the kitchen, “Be good!”

Harry was waiting just outside the building in one of his dad’s convertibles with a cheesy smile plastered on his face.

Peter pushed his glasses further up his nose as he strode over, “Come on, Har. I told you, you don’t have to drive me. I  _ like _ boarding to school.”

He reigned in his smile and rolled his eyes, “And you  _ love _ riding in the convertible,” he retorted but before Peter could argue he added, “Just get in. We’re already running late, you’ll never make it on time with the skateboard.”

Climbing over the passenger door and throwing his board in the back seat, Peter started flipping through the presets on the radio, mumbling under his breath, “Maybe I like being late.”

Harry smirked as he pulled into traffic “Oh yeah, you’re a real rule breaker.” He sounded completely sardonic, and Peter had to almost physically slap a hand over his mouth to keep himself from pointing out that yeah, he kinda was a rule breaker. Being a vigilante wasn’t exactly legal, but Harry didn’t know about Spider-Man. Well, he didn’t know Peter Parker was Spider-Man, so ex-nay on the secret identity-nay. He’d already let it slip with Ned.

Instead, Peter let himself smirk back and shot a glance at an unsuspecting Harry under his lashes, before settling back into his seat.

It was a warm morning so having the top down was actually not that bad, and Peter even pointed his face into the sunlight as it peaked out from between the buildings growing all around them. He absentmindedly fiddled with the zipper on the sweater as he smiled at the kids racing down the street with backpacks way too big for them, and the business people bustling around with briefcases in hand and Bluetooths in ear, their mouths going a mile a minute.

In fact, the whole city felt like it was going a mile a minute. It was awake. Alive. Thriving.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” Harry asks with a sideways glance and a smirk. “You’re kinda smiling like an idiot.”

He was, he didn’t care. He shrugged, “Woke up on the rights side of the bed, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, whatever. You meet a girl? You ask one out already?”

Peter wrinkled his nose and looked back out to the street with a scoff, “What do you think?”

“Don’t be like that, Pete,” Harry swatted playfully at his arm, “I was just teasing.”

Peter brushed his hand away, “I know, forget it.” He readjusted his glasses further up his nose and pulled out his phone to check for messages on impulse.

“You doing anything after school today?” Harry asks after a few minutes and they are pulling into the parking garage for Howard Stark’s High School for Gifted Minds where Peter and Harry were eighteen-year-old seniors in their last semester.

“Got the internship after, but I get off at eight,” Peter answered pulling his backpack on as Harry parks.

“You want to go out to eat after you get off, me and MJ were thinking about trying out a new Mexican place by her house.”

“And be the third wheel?” Peter asked in fake incredulousness.

Harry rolled his eyes, “So it’s a yes then?”

Peter jumped over the door, “Of course.”

He seemed pleased with the response if his smile was anything to go by, “I’ll even bring out the car and maybe we can go night cruising?”

Peter shoved his board under his arm and hopped over to his friend, “Ya really mean it?!”

For a moment Harry just raised his eyebrow, his smile small, but it grew and something sparkled in his eyes, and he chuckled, “Did Mrs. Leeds give you caffeine or something?” He reached out, grabbing Peter’s hand and inspecting it like the boy in front of him wasn’t real, “You’re never like this in the morning.”

He couldn’t really explain it himself. He had just woken up with an unnamable energy. Karen, too, had seemed a bit confused by it when he said hello to her this morning instead of grumbling saltily when his alarm went off after only an hour of sleep. In all honesty, he hadn’t felt this good in years, not since Uncle Ben and Aunt May died, maybe before that.

He probably should have been beat, but he just felt good. He felt like smiling, which was usually reserved for when he was out Superheroing, so it felt wonderful to smile and mean it when he was just a civilian.

Turning up to his friend, Peter admired his gray colored eyes and curly black hair as New York City morning light shifted through the smog to play against his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Peter could read his friend’s happiness at his happiness easily. Harry was a good person like that, he was kind and understanding and empathetic.

It was so hard to understand how someone as beautiful inside and out could be the child of Norman Osborn, AKA the biggest asshole on the planet. He wasn’t a super villain or anything, but he was an asshole nonetheless. Thank goodness, that trait seemed to skip a generation or something, because Harry was great.

Peter realized the two of them had just been standing there staring at each other with huge grins, and shook himself out of it, “Race you to the elevator!” he laughed taking off at a dead sprint toward the metal doors, “Last one there, pays for dinner!”

Harry’s signature laugh bounced around the cavernous walls after Peter’s voice, following by his racing footfalls as he chased after Peter, who dropped his skateboard and got on, “That’s cheating!”

“Love and War!” Peter called, smashing into the metal doors with an “Oomph! I win!”

The bell rings while they are still on the elevator down, and Peter’s not allowed to skate on campus so he has to run to class, it’s not the first time, and he knows it’s not going to be the last. With a grin too big he keeps track of Harry racing down the halls with him until he has to turn down a hall.

“Pete,” Harry’s eyes swim with amusement, his matching grin wonderful to Peter’s great mood.

“Har,” Peter hip checks him into a stumble, a laugh rolling off his tongue easily as Harry disappears down the right hall.

He crashes into his class just as the final bell rings, and despite the long run from the garage, isn’t out of breath as he falls into his seat, though he pretends because anyone else would be.

Ned turns to him, “Cutting it a little close, Peter.”

Shrugging he pulls out his spiral-bound notebook and a pen that he nibbles on as he talks around it, his grin  _ still _ too big, but not fading. “I like to live on the edge.” He giggles.

Ned startles and looks at him with more intent, “Wha- Are you okay? You look all…” he gestures at Peter vaguely.

Laughing softly as the teacher starts on his history fueled spiel, “I hope that means I look dashing and ready for a wonderful day of learning.”

Ned’s eyebrow twitches, “Are you high?”

Coughing into his hand to hide his loud laugh, Peter is sent a venomous glare from the teacher before he turns back to the touch board in the front of the room. “No, I’m not high,” Peter murmurs, “Aren’t I allowed to be in a good mood?”

Ned makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs as he tears his focus away to studiously take notes, and Peter tries to follow his example, he really does, but as he turns to the front of the class, his mind wanders off to the experiments he has been working on at his internship.

He works at Stark Tech in one of their laboratories. It’s a paid internship which is great, even if he didn’t need the money. May’s and Ben’s life insurance policies came in a year ago and had left enough to pay off their old condo in Queens completely, which had been transferred to Peter’s name and been held for him until he turned eighteen and he could legal move into it soon, plus there was a sizable chunk left for living expenses for about a year or so if Peter doesn’t get the Stark scholarships that, honestly, paid very well, maybe too well.

If he didn’t get those, Peter had applied to all kinds of scholarship and his grades so far had been impeccable even if he went to one of the most prestigious high schools on the East Coast that he had had to take, like, a billion tests in middle school to get into.

Apparently, Peter was a great student, but luckily, he went to a school of great students, it made him stand out less. It was like that at Stark Tech too. Not having everyone’s eyes on him meant he was less likely to be found out as Spider-Man, even if Ned knew, but we’re not going to talk about that.

Anyway, Peter got to work at the lab where he was just another well-oiled cog in Stark’s crazy machine, and no one was the wiser. In is free time in the lab, though Stark has his interns changing floors every few months, he could test out better and better formulas on his web fluid for his shooters when no one was paying attention.

Not that the experiments Tony had his floor working out this month weren’t interesting. No actually, Tony’s ideas had the potential to change the world every day and every few years he did, and Peter got to be a part of that. Currently, his floor had been challenged to find organic, but renewable, substitutes to Kevlar-

The bell suddenly rings, and Peter can only blink.

The teacher spits out some pages for reading and questions from the text to answer and then everyone is getting up all around him.

Ned holds out his hand, “Phone.” He demands.

“What?” Peter asks owlishly, even as he digs his cell from his pocket.

Ned immediately swipes through the password and snaps a few pictures of his notes with a smirk, he hands back the phone, “Hopefully you’re not so off in your own head next class,” he says, “I can’t take notes for  _ every _ subject.”

Peter blinks up at Ned as if in a daze, before he shakes it off and pushes all his shit back into his bag, “Thanks man. I really zoned out there, didn’t I?”

Ned just pats his shoulder, “Maybe you need to, like, get a full night’s rest once in a while. yeah?”

Chuckling, Peter follows Ned out the door, his smile returning. “Probably.”

“How late were you out last night anyway?”

“Got to see the sun rise,” he shrugs, and Ned turns to him in concern.

“Dude!”

“It’s fine,” Peter waves him off, “Gotta get to class.” He sticks his tongue out at a frowning Ned, whose frown twitches up into a smile at the sight before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, just be careful.”

Peter rides his skateboard to Stark Tower as Karen plays music in one ear, Peter singing softly along.

It is a beautiful day out, today. The sun warm, the breeze light but cool.

Peter is smiling as he kicks up his board at the front entrance, and strides through the crowded lobby to the metal detectors at the employee entrance. He’s worked here long enough for the guard to greet him by name as he drops his board on the conveyer belt to the metal scanner and backpack in one of the plastic boxes, and his cell phone and glasses in another.

All the employees know that Peter had hearing loss, so the security isn’t to fussed when he steps around the metal detector and turns off his coms system. All the metal components in Peter’s web shooters and glasses are made of Vibranium (Tony’s idea, smart bastard made them special to be hidden from anyone and everyone) so no metal detectors or scanners can ever recognize the components hidden in them, not even the employees of one Mr. Tony Edward Stark, but the coms processer screams something terrible in Peter’s ear when it passes under the magnetic field from even the hand scanner the when the security guard waves it over his body, so Peter turns it off.

The glasses are kind of generic-hipster looking with large, black frames, and Peter doubts Tony Stark would ever be able to pick them out of a crowd, but Peter always keeps his wrist bands covered, and his hair a little too long to cover his earpiece, even if they look harmless, because Tony is much more likely to notice those.

And hiding from Tony Stark is a necessity. Tony is  _ Spider-Man’s  _ mentor and replacement father figure, not Peter Parker’s. Hell, Peter works five days a week in the billionaire’s laboratories, but the two of them have never even ran into each other out of their suits.

Jarvis though, he knows. He recognized Peter’s body scan that the AI takes of everyone when they enter the building, but he has come in contact with the Avengers in and out of suit and told Peter that as long as he continued his hero work that he would not reveal his secret identity, as he had learned from his superhero contacts. Which soothed Peter’s near heart attack when he greeted Peter as Spider-Man the first time Peter was alone on the elevator, two years ago for his first day on the internship.

In fact, Karen will occasionally extend herself into the buildings computer to update herself with Tony’s or Jarvis’ current work, or security updates. She is connected to Stark technology remotely but being closer to the source for hours on end makes things faster and more efficient on her end.

“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” Jarvis greeted as he entered the elevator toting his backpack and board, his earpiece and phone replaced.

“Sup Jarvis,” he said, pressing the button for the floor where Peter could store his stuff and pick up his white coat from his locker.

“You will be working on the forty-fifth floor for the foreseeable future,” Jarvis said calmly.

The doors to the fifth floor opened, “That’s a lot of alliteration.” Peter commented but made his way through the massive employee lounge to the room of lockers dedicated to the interns where he only stayed a moment before he was back at the bay of elevators. 

Peter wasn’t concerned about moving up a few floors for his internship. Interns were usually all over the place, moving floors and stuff to where they are needed or work best. Peter, so far, has done pretty well on every floor in the past, but this is the highest he’s gone in the tower as Peter Parker. He’s excited to see what kind of things he will be working on.

He boards the elevator with the a few other interns who are just coming in from school as well.

A girl with tight curls and fair brown skin has her earbuds in and is actively trying to look busy as they all pile into the elevator. but she turns on Peter when he presses the button for the forty-fifth floor.

“So, you’re working with the big boys?” she asks dully and pops her gum, and Peter shrugs. Michelle has worked here just as long as Peter has, they’ve worked in the same labs again and again. She tries to act like she’s not the smartest person in the room, but she’s a genius. There is little doubt in his mind that she could get a real position here if she wanted it after school.

She tries to look unbothered as they stop at a lower floor for one of the other people, but she rolls up her earbuds and shoves them in her pocket as she asks, “Your first day on that floor?”

Peter tries to stifle a smile at her obvious interest, and shrugs noncommittally.

She pouts at his tight lipping until the doors open to her floor on the fortieth, “Don’t fuck it up Parker,” she throws over her shoulder and makes Peter laugh.

Peter is pulling out his backpack and skateboard all alone in the locker room when Karen pipes up in Peter’s ear. “Hello, Peter,” Karen sound chipper. “I’m happy to see you are well.”

“I missed you too,” Peter smirked a he slipped his glasses farther up his nose, and compulsively readjusted his wrist bands. “Did you hang out with Jarvis while I was at work?” Peter asked.

She had the capacity to do so. Tony had given her almost as much access to all of his computers and systems as Jarvis, who Peter could tell she both respected and resented as if he were an older brother, though both seemed to treat each other kindly enough.

“I did, in fact, do so,” she said calmly, not giving anything away, but it was broken by the slight energy in her voice as she tried to casually say, “We worked through a few upgrades on your suit’s design and talked to Mr. Stark about them.”

Peter smiled fully, “You ask about the Nano-bot thing?”

“Indeed.”

“What he say?” Peter slipped out the door and tried to keep his walk casual as he made his way to the elevator.

“He seemed interested,” she sounded smug, “He and Jarvis are working with the sketches we drafted and are planning experiments soon.”

Peter chuckled and pressed the button for the elevator. He loved Karen, sometimes she was almost as much as a nerd as Peter, but she was probably more of an adrenaline junky, enjoying Peter’s suit and patrols just as much as he did. She was the same kind of person Peter was, and maybe Tony had programmed her that way on purpose or maybe she just learned it from Peter, either way, she was Peter’s best friend, AI or not.

“A suit that could repair itself would super cool,” Peter encouraged her.

“I don’t know, I thought your sewing skills had just reached a professional level, Peter,” she said casually, “How else are you ever going to learn how to be a seamstress? Maybe we should reconsider the Nano-bots.”

Peter burst out laughing as he exited the elevator and a few heads turned his way.

“Shit.” he whispered, and speed walked through the lobby, least someone call him out for talking to himself, which is not the best for keeping a low profile. “Smartass,” Peter huffed.

“I learned from the best.”

“Touché.”

As promised, Harry had picked up Peter from outside Stark Tower with MJ in the convertible. MJ hugged him before he climbed into the back seat. “Hey there, Tiger,” she greeted.

Peter wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at her for the horrible nick-name and Harry smirked at them.

“You ready to destroy a new Mexican place?” MJ asked as Harry pulled away from the street.

“Since Harry is paying? You bet,” Peter smiled.

“Harry always pays,” she raises an eyebrow, and Peter laughed.

“He pays for you, not me!”

She sits right in her seat, “Only ‘cause you’re so stubborn.”

“I’m also a laugh-riot, MJ.”

“Of course, you are, Tiger.”

Peter makes a wounded noise and MJ giggles.

“Don’t listen to her, Pete,” Harry smiles in the rearview, a little bit of teasing in his voice, “You’re hilarious.”

“Freaking comedy genius,” Peter grumbles under his breath, but tosses a smirk Harry’s way before sprawling out in the backseat.

MJ took a set at one of the outside tables, “You guys know what I like,” she waved them away and started poking at her phone with a mischievous smile, uh-oh.

Harry ushering him away before Peter could make a fuss. He steered them toward the long line and Peter leaned back heavily against Harry’s chest in retaliation for his blatant attempts to distract Peter. “You know, you were my friend before you were her boyfriend right, Har?” he asked almost offhandedly, “You’re supposed to be on my side?”

Harry only had to tip his head up slightly to rest his chin on Peter’s head, and he wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders as he did so, his whole front pressing tightly to Peter’s whole back, even his knees pressing lightly on the back of Peter’s thighs as he urged Peter to take a few small steps. “Your side? Is there really sides? Besides, why do you assume she’s doing something bad?”

“Not bad, per say,” Peter shrugs in Harry’s hold. “Just… pushy.”

“Pushy?” Harry chuckles.

“Eeh, shut it,” Peter slapped at his arm. “You know what I mean. She means well, she just thinks she knows better than I do, which is only right  _ some _ of the time.”

“She’s a woman, Pete,” Harry nosed into messy brown hair, muffling his voice slightly, “She’s always right.”

“Oh boy, are you  _ so _ whipped.” Peter huffs, but isn’t fought on that front, Harry just ushering them forward a few steps as the line moved.

Peter let his eyes flutter closed, his body leaning hard against, and easily supported by, his friend, whose warm arms held Peter close, whose lean body easily moved Peter forward when required. All he had to do was keep his knees locked to keep himself from melting into the floor from the probably overly affectionate hold.

It wasn’t often that Peter ever felt so safe as he did now. He was tired from his unusual brightness all day, and even if Spider-Man can lift buses and stop runaway trains, anywhere Harry was, was a safe place to be. He was a wall of kindness, of soft hands, of warm hugs, and a deep voice that sometimes swam behind Peter’s ears with unaltered affection.

One of Harry’s hands tentatively reached down and took a careful hold of Peter’s from where his arms were loosely crossed. Harry’s low whisper roused Peter slightly, “What do you want?”

“A nap,” Peter smirked, and felt Harry smile.

“I meant to eat, you brat.”

Peter took in a big breath, his enhanced senses hurting a bit from all the spice in the air, even if his mouth watered. “Spaghetti.” Peter answered with his eyes still closed delicately as he lulled his head back onto Harry’s shoulder.

“Hilarious,” he huffed, “A real comedian.”

“Comedic genius,” Peter corrected, finally opening his eyes to spy the menu just a few feet ahead. “I bring you great jest.” With only two people left before them in line, Peter turned all his attention to the menu, debating between steak tacos or a meat lover’s burrito. He was so distracted, he didn’t pay attention when his spidey-sense warned him just before someone stumbled over his feet.

“Oh shit!“ was growled out and Harry was knocked a step back by Peter’s elbow and Peter’s hand shot out to catch the stranger before he faceplanted.

For his trouble, he got the pleasure of a handful of huge, toned bicep and the vision of two crystal clear blue eyes under a dark, heavy hooded jacket. Holy hell, the guy was hot. Panic. Panic! Holy Jesus Christ on a-

“Holy Jesus Christ on a stick, I’m sorry!” the blue eyed stranger blabbered with a naturally deep, gravelly voice as he collected himself and stood on his own two feet, “I wasn’t watching were I was going! I just saw tacos and let my stomach lead the way! But you’re not tacos, stupid stomach doesn’t know what it’s doing-“

“It’s alright, man,” Peter felt his cheeks burn red. “Just be careful?”

“Oh, look at that blush. Well, ain’t you just the cutest thing on two legs!” The man cooed and Peter’s blush intensified. He didn’t want to be cute! He wanted to be  _ hot _ . Hot beats cute every time!!

Damn his genetics! Damn that stupid, radiated spider that enhanced his abilities and left him permanently baby-faced!

“You alright, Pete?” Harry asked placing an almost possessive arm around his shoulders, eyeing the stranger warily.

Peter’s brow furrowed as he turned to his friend who stepped closer into him, plastering their sides together, weaving a hand into the hair at the base of Peter’s head. It was almost a protective posturing, but definitely a possessively intimate one. “I… I’m fine,” Peter stammered in confusion.

“Mhmm,” he hummed barely flicking his eyes up to the stranger to shoot him a fleeting look of distain before ushering them father up the line.

“Harry?” Peter frowned at his friend’s dismissiveness. 

The guy almost ate shit, it wasn’t like he ran into them on purpose.

“Sorry,” the stranger repeated, his eyes flashing as he tugged his hood more firmly over his face, then moving to the back of the line with his shoulders hunched defensively.

Peter almost wanted to follow and apologize for Harry’s behavior.

Needless to say, he was still undecided on his order when Harry walked them up to the counter. All he could think out was the sound of that guys deep voice, the hard muscle of his arm where Peter caught him. Peter felt himself turn bright red, and all higher brain function sizzled to a dazzling, confused stop.

He turned to his friend who didn’t spare him a second glance as he placed MJ’s order and took a second to ponder his own.

Peter tried, he tried so very hard not to overthink this. Just a really hot guy. Nothing more. Strangers making your heart flutter and stomach feel like you swallowed a butterfly swarm didn’t mean anything. Nope. No. Naw. Peter’s not the kind of guy to develop crushes on strangers. Is he?

“Tacos,” Peter squeaked to Harry, turning on his heel and scurrying out to the door to MJ before being asked to be more specific about his order or having an anxiety attack.

On the way out the side door, Peter’ eyes inadvertently found blue ones, and his cheeks burned brighter, a shy smile curled his lips slightly.

Under the hood, a broad, dazzling smile peaked out, and Peter walked a little faster out the door, least his heart give out as it fluttered in his chest.

Fuuuuuuck!

For the first time since leaving work, Karen spoke up from his ear just as he pushes through the door, “Peter, I think I should inform you that the man you just encountered was Wade Wilson out of uniform.”

Peter’s stride slowed, “Who the fuck is that?” he whispered before looking over his shoulder and through the glass to spot the huge man.

“Deadpool.”

Involuntarily, he sucked in a breath and a full mouth of spit, and started coughing.

Panic set in for just an instant because Deadpool had just caught him out and about with his friends, people he’s supposed to keep safe. 

But there is no way he could have recognized Peter out if his suit. The two had never even worked together as their alter egos. 

There’s no reason he should know Peter is Spider-Man.

“I thought,” Peter asked softly, “He had scars, like, all over his body?” Just as he asks the question, Wade ‘Deadpool’ Wilson glances over his shoulder and Peter catches sight of red and pink scared flesh on the man’s cheek and chin that he had not seen before. He had been too distracted with the man’s eyes and great fucking smile.

Peter scurries over to MJ before he gives himself an aneurism.

Did Harry notice the scars? Was that why he had been dismissive to Wade? Harry wouldn’t judge someone like that, would he? He hung out with Peter, looks couldn’t mean that much to him.

“You see a ghost or something?” MJ asks as he sits down beside her. He buries his face into his arms crossed on the table, making his glasses dig into his nose uncomfortably. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“Nope, just accidentally tripped the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Peter blurts like an idiot.

“Oh, Peter,” MJ coos with a sigh, rubbing comforting circles on his back, “What are we going to do with you?”

“You could sell me to the circus?” Peter’s whine muffled by his arms. “The Amazing Awkward-Boy.”

“Amazing Awkward- _ Man _ ,” MJ apply corrected, and Peter flinched.

Jesus, Peter couldn’t do this right now.

“MJ, I think I’m going to head home early.”

“We just got here!” she scoffed.

“I don’t feel good,” Peter told her, honestly, “I’m just going to go grab my bag and board from the car. Tell Harry I’m sorry.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, he just got to his feet and ran away.

The perfect Peter Parker move: running away from his feelings, his problems, and his friends! Peter acknowledges he is a train wreck of a human being. Let’s not dwell on it.

“Peter, you get your ass back over here,” MJ growled as she caught up with him just a few steps away, grabbing his arm  _ hard _ , so Peter was left to either employ some super strength or surrender to her will. Neither seemed pleasant.

You don’t use your powers on your friends, and MJ wanted him to acknowledge his  _ feelings _ . (Insert gagging noises.)

MJ started tugging him back to the table, “God, you’re so repressed what did your parents do to you?” she half joked as she forced him back into a plastic chair.

“Die when I was young and leave me feeling incomplete and unwanted in the same breath,” Peter half joked back. Which left both of them unsettled. But quiet. So, Peter won this round anyway.

It was worth a moment of celebration, he won so few battles of will while Peter Parker.

Or so he thought.

“Jeez, you really know how to cut deep,” she huffs sitting down, but glances down at her phone. “How pissed would you be if I invited Gwen?” she asks too innocently, not looking up.

“Very,” he says standing, “I’m leaving.” He doesn’t come back when she calls, just walks to the car and digs his board and bag from the back seat and skates home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is self-control? I was -am- planning on slow updates, like once a week maybe.
> 
> Oh well. 
> 
> After a chapter with Peter the boy, we get some Peter the tired, but peppy, vigilante, and some interaction with Tony and Matt. 
> 
> Sorry for mistakes or typos, it's a nightmare trying to find those on your own.

_ I see such beautiful things printed across your soul.  _

_ Like secrets only meant for me.  _

_ Like secrets.  _

_ Like secrets.  _

_ Only meant for me.  _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Peter tries to sleep but as usual when he doesn’t patrol or at least pay a visit to Tony, and despite how exhausted he is, Peter fails.

He dons his spare suit, because his one from last night has a huge cut in the thigh region, and climbs out the window facing a brick way of a tight alley, that no one ever goes down except for wayward rats, or  _ really _ wayward raccoons that one time. Then, Peter swings over to the tower.

Then climbs up the side of it like the arachnid he is, not having the energy to throw himself up at the end of a powerful swing to the top floor where Tony has a large balcony great for superhero landings and/or serves as an aerial capable front porch where Jarvis is the door man.

“Sup, Jarvis,” Peter greets as walks into the living room after pushing through the heavy, surely bullet-proof glass doors.

“Good evening, Spider-Man. Sir is very busy down in his personal lab, but he will be happy to see you.”

“Thanks Jarvis,” Peter clicked his heals and made his way to the elevator and taking it down to the basement where Tony keeps his secure, personal lab. There isn’t an option on the elevator for the lab or Tony’s penthouse on the wall with the other buttons, relying on Jarvis alone to give access to those floors. So, without further prompting, Jarvis deposits Peter on the basement level that despite being underground, is surprisingly airy, with sleek furniture in the little waiting room thing, and then all the modern tech you would expect from Tony Stark, genius/ billionaire, on the other side of the glass. Including a hard-working Tony Stark.

“What’s cookin’ Daddy-o,” Peter asks, casually walking through the automatic doors from the sitting room, and over to the older man.

Tony makes a startled noise followed by an indignant one. “Don’t call me that!”

Peter snickers, “Got a Daddy kink, Tony? You sick bastard.” Then sits on the stool beside Tony as he works on something vaguely alien merged with Earth tech.

For his trouble, Peter gets a smack to the back of the head, which he should have ducked for, but his spider-senses didn’t warn him about because for better or worse, Peter trusts Tony not to hurt him. The only reason that Peter keeps on the mask is to secure equal treatment. Because while Tony treats Spider-Man to everything he asks for, and some things he doesn’t. Normal-ol’-everyday-Peter is just an intern at Tony’s company. He doesn’t get any special treatment or favors. Peter doesn’t want to get complacent or greedy.

It’s less a trust thing and more of a boundary thing.

Peter rests his chin on an elbow stabilized on the work top, “You still trying to get that Chitauri army shit working again?”

“I have to,” Tony sighs as he places down his tiny instruments. “I have to know if it is possible to get this working. If I can do it, you can bet your ass someone else can too. If we want to undo it, we have to know how to do it first.”

“I thought Shield had managed to gather up all the weapons from the invasion and Vulture's whole... thing ?”

Tony let out a long-suffering sigh, “We never know for sure.”

Spider-Man hummed his understanding. He probed at the other malformations of Tony’s previous attempts at merging technology to see if he could program the laser guns, swords and knives to work properly. These things were dangerous. Humans didn’t need these things to work, it was bad enough the Chitauri were using them.

A huge yawn ripped Peter from his thoughts. Fuck, he was tired.

Tony glanced at his watch before turning to his protégé with a curious expression, “Kid, it’s ten thirty.”

Peter made an affirmative hum.

“You eat anything yet?” he asked but didn’t give Peter a chance to reply before he was turning up to the ceiling, “Hey Jarvis order us up some pizza from that place I found. We’re going up to the lounge.” He pulled Peter from his seat and toward the elevator.

“Tony.” Peter sighed, “I wasn’t trying to disrupt you anymore than usual. You don’t have to drag yourself away from the lab.”

“Lesson Number One, kid,” Tony said as the doors closed. Peter  _ did not _ point out that there had been probably close to a million ‘Lesson Number One’s over the years from Tony, “Sometimes some space from a project adds perspective.”

But if that wasn’t really Tony’s real Lesson Number One. Tony was an expert at taking a step back from all the things. Not his superhero work or experiments, but from everything else. Most notably Pepper Potts. Peter knew that Tony loved Pepper in his own ADHD way, but their on-again, off-again relationship was a mess to follow. How much perspective did one couple need?

Tony never seemed to need time away from Peter though, which might be because Peter’s place in his life was definitely in the ‘superhero work/experiment’ category of Tony’s mind. He may have also been in the ‘surrogate son’ category too, but that’s okay because Tony was an alright substitute parental figure. If you could look over all the mother hening or the excess use of the nickname ‘kid,’ then Tony was a pretty cool dude, a good mentor.

Once in the lounge Tony beelined it for the mini fridge pulling out two sodas and threw one to Peter, finally getting to the reason he pulled Peter from the Lab, “Talk to me kid, why aren’t you in bed right now? You yawned like ten times in the elevator alone.”

Peter rubbed at his tires eyes only finding his lenses but shrugged, “My sleep schedule sucks?”

Tony scrunches his nose, but nods, “I’ll drink to that,” he said raising his can and taking a sip. Though the look on his face telling that he knew Peter was deflecting. “How long on those pizzas, Jarvis?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

“Cool,” Tony walked over the huge, plush couch urging Peter along with him. “While we wait, I can show you some of the non Chitauri projects I’ve been working on-“ but he cuts himself off, “You want to show me some of the stuff you’ve been working on instead?”

While the request to take a look at Peter’s projects isn’t new, and occasionally Peter will take him up on it, Peter can see that now, Tony is the one deflecting. Maybe there was more than one reason Peter was rushed from the lab downstairs. But that was so unlike Tony. He showed Peter everything.

“What’s going on Stark?” Peter asked with a serious voice.

Tony makes a face and sits on the couch, swirling his coke like it’s the scotch he’s been trying to not drink the last few years. Closing the space between them, Peter at on the couch and waited for Tony to come to a decision. Pressuring Tony was never a good idea.

He blew out a sigh and set down his coke, “Fine kid, you win. Jarvis bring up the display on Project Goo.”

“Project Goo?” Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“Not a word,” Tony tried to sound serious even as he smiled too.

The huge tv displayed a mess of data on half the screen and on the other a nondescript looking sealed container of some red liquid. It would have been innocuous if the container wasn’t in what looked like a hermetically sealed room. Peter got up and moved to the tv to get a closer look, “What is it?”

Tony joined him, “Alien symbiote.”

“A parasite?”

“Pretty much, semi-mutualistic if it wants to be.”

“Is it sentient?”

“You have no idea. Jarvis play the money shot.” The screen with all the data blinked away to show some grainy security footage of man in a liquor store who looked like he was just completely loosing his shit. He was clutching his head and screaming, lashing out the other customers who tried to approach. With a swipe of the guy’s arm, a woman was thrown over the shelves and across the whole of the store into the camera that cuts the footage out on impact.

“Jesus Christ,” Peter gasps. “Are they okay?”

“Anger-Management there is the worst off if you can believe it.”

“Is he Super?”

“Not a lick of mutate.”

“Then how?”

Tony points at the red goo in the container as it perks up in its container.

Considering the goo as it moves in the container, Peter asks, “It gives them super strength?”

“Super everything, kid,” Tony corrects, “We questioned the guy before the symbiote killed him and he said he could hear it talking in his head as well.”

“Freaky,” Peter shuttered.

“It tried to latch onto Rodgers when he showed up to the hospital with me to question the guy.”

“Yeah? How’d you… ya know, stop it?”

“It had to leave its host to latch on to Rogers, but it can’t survive for long in our atmosphere without a help. It can communicate telepathically with you if it’s touching you but needs explicit consent to enter your body.”

“That’s… considerate?”

Tony huffs, “Yeah whatever you say. Anyway, it’s not exactly an easy job carrying that thing. It can give its host expedited healing, but it still basically eats at the internal organs like poison. Anger-Management died within minutes of the thing leaving his body.”

“So, extremely toxic?”

“Yup.”

Peter rubbed at his chin as he walked back to the couch, Tony followed. “Why’d you rush me out of the lab? It’s in there, isn’t it?”

“You would be a great host kid, with your already accelerated healing, you could probably carry that thing around indefinitely and never have any serious side effects. Hell, you might only get the befits, but we still don’t know what these things want. World domination might be priority numero uno after finding a host. It’s still an alien.”

“What,” Peter asks a little offended, “You though I would just let it out and inhabit me?”

“No! No.” Tony shakes his head, placing a soothing hand on Peter’s arm, “That thing is only contained because it wants to be, the jar is air tight and oxygen free, but I was scared how it would react if a host like you came in.”

“Oh,” the wind out of Peter’s sails dies, “Sorry.”

“No problem, kid,” Tony turns up to the ceiling, “Jarvis, ETA on that pizza?”

“Already on the counter in the kitchen, Sir.”

Together, the two heroes move to the kitchen, taking seats on the stools by the breakfast bar and dug into the pie as Stark pulled out a tablet that he used to go into all the data he had on the alien with Peter. It was interesting and got Peter thinking, but after an hour of it, Peter had to put an end to all the fun.

Wiping at his mouth then pulling down his mask that he rolled up to his nose, Peter slid off the stool, “I think I should get in a patrol before heading home Stark.”

“You do that.” Tony clapped him on the shoulder, his smile vaguely proud, “But you make sure to get some sleep tonight, okay kid?”

“Yes,  _ mom _ ,” Peter rolled his eyes against the fondness that threatened him and made his way to the door, “See ya, Jarvis.” Then escaped out to the balcony to start patrol.

Wade, silently singing pop songs with the boxes as he stakes out the building across the way for Shield. He has a little flip book and watch in hand that he’s using to describe those entering and leaving and when they do so. He tried not to think about how this ‘job’ could have just as easily have been covered by a well-placed security camera. But he’s pretty sure this is another test. They want to test his patience or resolve or whatever.

But Wade had made this choice months ago. Years ago, actually, but only a few months ago did he have the opportunity to take the first  _ real _ steps towards being a hero.

He had been running around the X-Men trying to get their attention, but never really got anywhere- Wolverine was the only one willing to train Wade, but he still hated him sooo, so, so much, getting so inordinately annoyed by Wade’s jabber-mouth that he kicked Wade off of almost every mission before they even started. The merc spent two whole years as a trainee in the stupid jersey -That he kept btw!- and never went on more than a handful of missions, and on every single one of them Wolvie had left him there to make his own way back to the mansion. One of the missions had been in space!!

{It was a fun trip back though! We got to live alien tentacle porn!}

Wade shuddered, “I thought we promised not to talk about that.”

{Hey, you brought it up first!}

[T’is true, good sir.]

{Yeah! Besides, let me keep my precious memories.}

[I think you mean delusions, not even space octopuses would give us the time of day for sex.]

Yellow gasps in pain, {How dare you break the fantasy!}

[We were eaten, Yellow.]

{We performed deep penetration? The deepest penetration.}

“Oh god.”

[You’re gross Yellow.]

{And unashamed.}

A group of rowdy lookin’ teens ran up the steps to the building and Wade added them and their descriptions to his half-filled notebook, then when back to watching the closed door.

One of the kids kinda resembled that kid from earlier in the night when Wade had stopped for some pre-stakeout tacos.

Oh, he had been absolutely  _ adorable. _ }

[Oh god, yeess.] It wasn’t like White to ever admit to finding anyone attractive, but White had lost his shit for that kid. It had almost knocked Wade for a loop, but White hadn’t been lusting, he’d just taken notice, it was Yellow who had been incorrigible as always.

[Too bad he took off like that, left his friends there and everything.]

{I bet that rich looking dill hole scared him off. He had been too handsy, and the kid had bristled like a porcupine.}

[Ya sure he wasn’t running from the big guy? He’s pretty ugly.]

“Hey, I have feelings, ya know?”

{The kid should have been running for his life, but he smiled at us. And that blush! He was so shy- too cute- too sweet- I’m dying of diabetes.}

[He had pretty brown eyes. And freckles!]

Wade should have brought a coloring book or something, because, God, this was boring and gave the boxes too much time to think and talk.

He has been sitting here every night for a month. He has handed over at least a dozen of his little notebooks over to shield to analyze. Honestly, he would have stabbed someone at Shield for this stupid mission if Steve Rogers – AKA Captain ‘Could bounce a quarter off that ass’ America- hadn’t been the one to help get him an in with the Avengers.

He had run into Captain America and after some pretty hard fanboying, he had had the chance to ask to join their little team instead. Cap had told him, if he wanted to be an Avenger, he had to prove himself worthy.

Enter: Wade has to work for Shield and deal with Tony ‘Iron-Man’ Stark, who is his very ungracious handler since Cap is off on a mission far away from Shield HQ. But really, Iron-Dildo wasn’t so bad. He never killed Wade to shut him up like Wolvie and could keep up with Wade’s manic speech patterns. It’s just that he’s suuuuch a douche. Always talking about responsibility and patience and trustworthiness, which is so hypocritical that Wade has had to stab himself in the leg a few times to keep himself from pointing it out. He’s not always been successful, though.

Deep in thought and concentrating on the door across the way, Wade is startled by the sound of someone landing hard on the roof he is curled in the corner of. When he glances around the huge vent next to him, he is shocked to see Spider-Man.

Even more shocked to see the vigilante staggering as he caught his breath, a groaned laugh huffing out his mouth with a punched, “Ouch,” as he clutched at his side.

Well, if it isn’t a little spider.

{Hey! Look who it is!}

[Shut the hell up. We have eyes, you know?]

“It’s SPIDER-MAN!!!!” Wade squeed under his breath, he was  _ kinda _ excited. After catching a glance of the hero he had taken the day to search him up. He was an Avengers trainee like Wade. The hero was pictured patrolling NYC almost every night, stopping everything from petty crimes to costumed villains on hover boards to man-sized lizards robbing banks.

[Wonder what brings him to our neck of the woods.]

{You think he came to see us?}

[Don’t be stupid. If he came to see us, it’s not for a good reason. We’re the  _ bad _ guy.]

{But we haven’t even done anything bad in  _ months _ .}

[Our reputation is likely to precede us.]

Spider-Man didn’t seem to notice Wade as he crept backwards, further into the shadows. When the hero spoke, he didn’t seem to be talking to Wade either. “Yeah, remind me to never get tazed again. It’s never any fun, and I seem to always forget.” He paused and seemed to be listening to someone or something before he continued, “Oh, you just think you’re  _ so _ funny.”

[Oh my god, he’s just as crazy as us.]

{Uh-oh!} Yellow cheered happily.

Spider-Man takes a breather, leaning his body on his elbows over a metal AC unit, inadvertently propping out his ass in the direction where Wade was hiding, and Wade’s breath caught in his throat.

{That ass!! Those newspaper photos  _ do not _ do it justice!}

[Uh-oh.] White sounded frightened.

{ _ Touch _ the butt.}

“I’m not going to just go over there and touch him, I’m not a complete sicko!”

{Liar! Touch-it! Touch-it! Touch-it!} Yellow chanted.

[Please no. No chanting. And no Non-Con, we aren’t in that kind of fic.]

“Consent is sexy.” Wade agreed.

{So is holding him down and having our way with him. I don’t mind taking him. He would be so pretty covered in blood.}

[Blood  _ is _ sexy.] White seemed to relent.

Even as he hides, Wade can’t help but take note of the little hero. The newspaper pics make him look taller, the little thing can’t be more than 5’7’’ or 8’’ and while he is obviously fit with toned thighs and arms, he has such delicate wrists and ankles, and thin fingers as he prods at his injured side. And Yellow had not been exaggerating at the perfection of that spider’s ass. While this guy could be anyone under the mask, could probably blend into a crowd with his average build and height, that ass couldn’t. It was a 10/9, too damn fine.

Wade turned away from the vigilante and back down to the door, “Spider-Man was on Tin-Can’s list of Untouchables. We want in his good graces, we play by his rules.”

{Screw the rules!}

[We are far better at breaking the rules than following them.]

“We’re not going anywhere near him.”

{Oh, you poor little man…}

[You don’t know a thing, do you?]

{We’re in a slash fic, bro. And not the bloody kind.}

[This will not end well for you.]

A few tense minutes later Spider-Man, still bickering to a voice in his head, shoots off a web and swings out into the night, leaving Wade to stare down at a door, and silently bicker with his own voices on the merits of abandoning the mission and tracking down a little spider.

“We’re  _ not _ going after him.” He eventually appeased the boxes with a begrudging, “At least… not tonight.”

Peter continued on with the tail end of his patrol. Just before the end, Karen catches something on the scanner, “Armed robbery six blocks North at a jewelry store.”

“On it.” Peter swings down and drops silently to the street to approach on foot. When he gets there, he spots four men roving inside a dark store with shotguns on the ready. “How close are the police?” Peter asks as he circles around to the back entrance where the door has been kicked in.

“Police arrival estimated in less than five minutes,” Karen informed him

“That’s plenty of time,” Peter slipped passed the toppled door.

The first shotgun wielding robber has his back turned to the door at the end of the hallway to the back alley, his attention out to the street through the glass front of the store. He’s barely an arm’s length away from Peter. “Too easy,” he rolls his eyes, then reaches out and drags the guy through the door opening and into the small hallway. He yanks the gun from the crook’s hand before tossing him to the floor. Peter can see a shout on the edge of the criminal’s tongue, but Peter webs his mouth shut and punches him out cold in the blink of an eye.

“You know shouting for backup isn’t nice,” Peter chastises softly at the unconscious man as he webs the guy to the floor, taking the time to yank off the ski mask. “And a ski mask? Really? So ten years ago.” He tosses it over his shoulder, sneaking to the end of the hall, but he turns back to the webbed heap of a man, “You really need to step up your game if you want to be taken seriously. First get a proper mask, then some real training, then a proper evil, villain name, something like Shot-Gun or Blaster- boi, okay, maybe not those, but you get what I’m saying right?”

“Peter,” Karen sighs exasperatedly. “The man is unconscious. And in case you forgot, there are still three armed criminals in the next room r _ obbing _ the jewelry store.” Glass shatters in the adjoining room as if to accentuate the point.

“Ooops,” Peter turns back to the half-opened door to the rest of the building, “Sorry, that taze from earlier must still be messing with my head.”

“Or it could be the sleep deprivation.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” He yawns. “It’s probably that.”

Peter can hear Karen rolling her metaphorical eyes at him in her poignant silence that follows.

He takes that as his que to burst through the door and immediately shoots his webs at the two closest guys’ shotguns and yank them away.

They had been using the butt of the guns to smash the cases open, tossing all the jewelry into duffle bags open on the floor.

All three of the men turn on Peter then, but the one still with a gun hardly even aims before he’s pulling the trigger.

Peter’s spider sense has him ducking behind a raised, metal jewelry case in the nick of time. Buckshot shattered the glass in the case and rained it down on him.

Peter jumps over the now ruined case, avoiding as much glass as possible, and kicks the approaching, weaponless man into the gun-wielding jackass. They clatter to the floor in a mess of arms and legs, the gun disappearing into the shadows on the other side of the room, “That wasn’t very nice!” Peter yells as he webs them both to the floor, “You could have hurt someone.”

The remaining, weaponless man looks frozen in fear.

Peter puts a hand on his hip and uses the other hand to point at the floor, silently ordering the guy to lay down.

The guy shivers like a leaf but complied. Peter webs him to the floor too. “At least one of you have manners. The guy at the backdoor was very rude.” Peter huffs before kicking discarded duffle bags of jewelry into the center of the room, and then going around and plucking off the masks of the assailants.

Sometimes it really freaks him out that he has to unmask criminals, but honestly, it’s kind of a safety net. If Peter sees their faces then so can Karen, and if Karen sees it, she can help track them down if they escape before the police arrive.

The squeal of police sirens cut through the air.

“That’s my cue,” Peter waves at the restrained men, all of which were frowning with varying degrees of anger and/or fear. “Ya’ll be good now, ya hear?” he orders before he runs out the back and climbs up to the roof.

He isn’t expecting to be met with a large figure as he vaults over the edge of the roof.

“D-Daredevil?” Peter sputters before he regains his composure. He sauntered over to the man and throws out a hand in wave, “Long time no see, how’s the lawyering?”

Daredevil just smiles an easy smile and throws an arm around Peter’s shoulder in a half-hug thing. “It’s been too long.”

Spider-Man and Daredevil are kinda friends.

This is probably one of those times two people mostly became friends because they just knew waaay too much about each other for the other to feel comfortable not showing up out of the blue just to check up on each other.

Peter Parker, as Spider-Man, had run into Daredevil, as Matt Murdock, kicking the shit out of some real bonafied ninjas. He hadn’t necessarily made the connection to the man and his alter ego until after Peter had jumped down into the alley to help and noticed the dark auburn-haired man was using one of those white and red cane things that blind people use to walk with to beat the shit out of his enemies like Daredevil uses his Billy clubs. And even then he wasn’t sure about it until he heard him talk.

Don’t get him wrong, Peter’s no Daredevil, his senses aren’t so good that he can hear heartbeats or, like,  _ feel _ the individual wing beats of humming birds, but they’re pretty good, beyond human at least, and Spider-Man and Daredevil have worked together a few times before, so Peter had been acquainted with the quality of Daredevil’s voice enough to recognize it on Matt Murdock.

It felt good to have something on Daredevil because the hero had informed Peter a few weeks prior to that that he could technically ‘see’ under Peter’s mask.

But after working with each other on multiple things, or just running into each other, Peter and Matt had become pretty good friends. Peter liked that Daredevil took being a hero so seriously, especially in respect to the no killing thing, that Peter needed, if for nothing else but another form of reinforcement on his damaged brain that killing was never the option, not that Peter ever wanted to acknowledge his... first manslaughter? God, that’s so fucked up.

It was nice to just have someone who had the capabilities to murder someone but never did, someone who could but didn’t, took active control of his body to refrain from it. It felt like he wasn’t fighting alone.

Peter liked to think that Daredevil got something better from their friendship, the ability to bask in Peter’s lighthearted nature, that Matt absolutely did not possess. The man took the Catholic Guilt thing to heart- and soul, for that matter.

“What brings you to my neighborhood,” Peter asks kindly.

Daredevil just shrugs, “It was pretty quiet in Hell’s Kitchen. I was headed to the robbery, but you beat me to it. Thought I’d stick around to see how you are.”

It’s not that Peter didn’t believe him, it’s just that Matt wasn’t the type to sit around and chat once unless someone needed first aid or they stopped someplace for a post patrol feeding where they could stuff their faces as messily as they wanted with a food of choice without fear of judgment.

Peter looked around for the blond man who didn’t have a mask or secret identity. Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton was a mainstay in the Avengers, his almost inhuman aim with a bow and arrow giving his tiny mortal, unmutated body the necessary range to make him not only useful in a fight, but sometimes a necessity. He works regularly for Shield, and thus with Daredevil, who worked with Shield when he deemed appropriate and had a soft spot for the marksman who could talk him into anything.

Matt punches Peter on the shoulder, “I am perfectly capable of human interaction without Hawkeye’s supervision?”

Peter said nothing at how the statement had morphed into a question at the end. “But you  _ do _ want something?” Peter asked instead.

They both caught the sound of the police cruisers pulling up to jewelry store they were still perched on and jumped to the adjacent building before progressing further and further away from the scene, in wordless agreement.

When they finally came to a stop, they were in Hell’s Kitchen, right down the street from Matt’s favorite Chinese food place. The red clad man side eyed Peter with a hopeful look.

So, this was a post-patrol feeding session.

Peter smirked, “Are we sure you’re not the growing teenage boy out of the two of us?”

“I thought you were an adult now?” Matt asked too casually before he jumped down into the alley from the second story, rolling at the bottom to project his ankles.

Peter had  _ not _ told Matt his birthday had passed.

The smaller hero jumped down, not bothering to cushion his fall with a roll because his muscle and bone were more than strong enough to take the impact, and stalked angrily after Matt. “How did you know my birthday passed? Did you learn it from Shield? What does Shield know? Do they know who I am?”

Last Peter heard, Tony said he wasn’t going to let Shield dig into Peter’s other life, and the billionaire had a lot of sway within Shield to enforce that since he pretty much bankrolled the whole thing through his company. Tony was protecting Peter.

“Calm down,” Matt and Karen said at the same time. Daredevil with his inhanced hearing, was one of the few people who actually knew Karen existed. She liked Matt. She though he was a good role model for Peter.

Daredevil chuckled and murmured “Jinks.” under his breath.

Karen was silent but amused.

Peter was not at all in the mood for this shit. He frowned severely and put his hands on his hips, “What do they know?!”

Matt sighed, “Nothing, I just assumed you couldn’t stay seventeen forever.”

That… well, that made sense.

“Oh,” Peter said lamely, his shoulders slumping, Oops. He yawned despite himself. “Sorry.”

Matt threw over a tight smile and continued on over to the back alley of the restaurant where the owner could take Matt’s orders without drawing too much attention to the masked men and frequenters of the establishment. It put the whole store at risk of retaliation from enemies of the heroes if they continually used the front door.

At the back door, Matt made his usual order, Peter didn’t order anything, he was too tired to eat, but he could keep Matt company until he food arrived, then he was going home. The owner refused any payment, as usual. Which was a blessing because Peter never carried money or a wallet, and Peter doubted Matt did either.

As they waited for the food, Matt leaned against the doorjamb as Peter sat on top of closed dumpster, trying to blink back his tiredness. Matt scratched at the stubble on his chin as he looked over to speak.

“You know Shield isn’t looking into you, right?” he asked.

The smaller hero just shrugged and picked at the intricate webbing detail of his suit’s boots, trying not to yawn again.

“They looked into me,” Matt added meaningfully, “I mean, they look into everyone, but they haven’t even asked me about you once. Tony’s got them almost avoiding you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you also know that them knowing isn’t the end of the world? They might even pay you just for patrolling.” 

Peter sighed, “We don’t do this for the money.” 

Matt watched him for a moment, but they both knew Peter was right. They both were going this for a higher reason than that, answering to a higher responsibility they  _ had _ to answer to.

Daredevil tried to throw in a casual, “You ever heard of someone named Deadpool?”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “He your new baby Daddy?”

Daredevil choked on his own spit, “What?”

“Aww,” Peter yawned, “I would have paid to see the love triangle between you, Hawkeye, and a huge mercenary who looks big enough uproot a tree.” He giggled at how Daredevil looked disappointed in Peter for that whole sentence.

“You need to go to bed soon,” Matt sighed just as the door opened and the owner handed Matt a huge bag of food and thanked him for watching over Hell’s Kitchen before disappearing back inside.

Neither did the job for the thanks either, but they were always appreciated.

Peter smirks and hops off the dumpster, “I’ve heard of Deadpool, what about it?”

Matt makes a face before he looks over, he looks like he might say something, but he must think better of it because he shakes his head and looks away, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

If there ever was a worse liar than Daredevil, Peter has never met them. At least the hero never tried to outright deny his attraction to a certain bow and arrow wielding hooligan, or his ex-partner-in-lawyering, because the man would be just incapable of doing so effectively, but the hero either didn’t have the strength to turn on his faith for one issue or he just wasn’t ready to admit he was at the very least bisexual. Maybe both.

Shrugging, Peter crawls up the side of the restaurant, Matt taking the ladder to the roof. If Matt doesn’t want to talk about whatever is on his mind, that’s fine. Peter’s not going to push.

Matt considers him as he climbs over the edge of the building and finding his favorite air duct to sit on as Peter wonders over to the side to find a good place to swing away.

“Spider-Man,” Matt says reluctantly, and Peter turns over his shoulder to the man, “Keep an eye on Deadpool if you bump into him. He’s trying to be a better man, he really is, but that doesn’t mean he is a  _ safe _ man. At the end of the day, he’s not all there mentally. He’s still a threat, don’t underestimate him.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Peter takes it to heart, “Will do.” He swings off the building to head home.

He’s so tired that he’s barely awake to strip himself and tucking his suit away, down a bottle of water from his cashe of bottles and snacks in the closet and change into a sleep clothes. He should probably take a shower, but he is asleep as soon as he lays down.


	4. Chapter 4

_ We’re nightmares and monsters. But we’re still waiting. _

_ Hoping and asking for the world to make sense again. _

_ It’s spinning and tumbling and we’re holding on for dear life. _

_ We keep watching these horribly tranquil seconds tick by so unsure of how to hold on to them, Unsure if we even should. _

_ Is life better when it sits still? Or should we learn to crawl through the chaos? _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Peter was woken up by gentle fingers through his shaggy, brown hair. His eyes fluttering open to the half of Harry’s tear streaked face that was not hidden behind his own arm. His friend was kneeling at the side of his bed, his eyes closed softly, but red-rimmed and sad as he pets through Peter’s hair.

Backing up against the wall on his bed, Peter wordlessly encourages Harry into the small space available on the remainder of the bed. And once Harry had crawled up and buried his face into Peter’s pillow, he broke down into sobs.

“Shh, shh,” Peter cooed, resting his head on the back of Harry’s shoulder, petting Harry’s hair instead, the soft black tendrils like silk against Peter’s fingers. Peter was never good at comforting people, never good at easing pain, but Harry had been there for every step of Peter’s pain. He’d held Peter through every tear drop he could when Peter lost his Aunt and Uncle, through every grief ridden sob and anger-filled scream.

He’d held Peter together with such delicate care.

The least Peter could do was try when his friend came to him like this. The least Peter could do was whisper soft soothing noises and hold Harry through whatever he needed it for.

Harry curled in himself and his sobs intensified for a while, so Peter curled around him, letting Harry hide his face in Peter’s shirted stomach, his fingers digging into Peter’s sides hard enough to bruise, but Peter’s been bruised, slashed, cut, electrocuted, and shot for less.

Somewhere in the middle of Harry’s sobbing, Mrs. Leeds pushes Peter’s door open and peeked in to check on them, her face tired from a long shift at the hospital. Peter tries to waved her away, Harry is a private person about this kind of stuff, but she comes in anyway leaning in the foot or so required to set down a cup of water and a bottle of aspirin discreetly on the bed side table. She doesn’t normally come in Peter’s room without knocking or permission, but Harry _ is _ being pretty loud. She gestures for Peter to give the things on the table to Harry before she closes the door and Peter hears her head to her room and shut the door.

By the time Harry has himself back under control, his head is tucked under Peter’s jaw, his arms wrapped loosely around Peter’s waist. One of Peter’s hands is lost in Harry’s hair and the other is curled over his friend’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles in Harry’s upper back. Their legs are tangled together and they’re both beyond sweaty from being curled up so close together for so long.

Harry’s breath is ghosting a soft trail against Peter’s pulse point in his neck, and the intimacy of the feeling is not lost on Peter, but now is not the time to dwell on it. “Soooo,” Peter asks, leaving the question up in the air for Harry to take or not.

Chuckling softly, Harry pulls away, laying flat on his back to stare up at the glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling- they were there when Peter moved in, he swears! Peter mimics his friend, laying on his own back, and even though the bed is small enough that they basically touching from toe to shoulder.

When Harry spoke, his voice was soft and sad, and a bit rough from crying, “Am I allowed to hate my dad?”

Peter should have guessed that Norman is the cause of Harry’s sudden break down, that man is a fucking asshole. Probably one of the worst humans on Earth. It’s not hard to see how Norman is wearing Harry thin with a heavy burden of too great expectations and harsh punishment.

Sometimes, like just a few minutes ago, Peter can actually feel Harry breaking under his hands. It is both a gift and a curse to feel, to know. There are so few who Harry will ever let that close, but Peter is so ill-equipped to save Harry even if he understands it, even if they live lives that do, and will continue to, tear them apart.

But where Peter’s suffering is of a kind that he asks it of himself, a kind that he loves and cherishes, yet hates and regrets, Harry never asked for his suffering, doesn’t deserve it, will never deserve it.

“I think,” Peter says carefully, having considered Harry’s question for probably too long, “we’re allowed to hate the people who hurt us.” That brings tears to Harry’s eyes again, but they’re of the quiet kind, Peter wipes them away without comment.

Harry meets his eye and smiles a soft little thing, and Peter smiles back just as softly. Harry grabs Peter’s tear soaked fingers and kisses them softly, “Thanks for everything, Pete,” he says as meaningfully as he can, and Peter feels every ounce of sincerity in it.

“No problem, Har,” Peter says softly, “But you know, MJ is much better at comforting than I am. Plus, she’s got all the soft spots to put your head when you cry.”

Huffing out a tiny laugh, Harry’s cheeks pinken significantly, “I was planning to head to her house.” he admits, embarrassed, “I was walking out of my dad’s building, and the next thing I know, I’m on your front stoop drenched in tears… Ned had to push me up the stairs to your room.” by the end of the explanation Harry was back in tears, and Peter cooed and wiped at Harry’s cheeks until he calmed down again. “See, Pete, you’re a natural at this,” Harry croaked, his eyes fluttering at the feeling of Peter’s fingers through his hair.

Suddenly remembering the cup of water on the night stand, Peter reaches over for it and hands it to his friend who drains it easily.

Peter crawls over Harry, picking up his glasses as he goes and puts them on, then adjusts his arm bands unconsciously. He goes to the small closet where he keeps a stash of protein bars and water bottles for refueling when he comes home from patrolling, he grabs a water bottle and hands it over to his friend with the aspirin for the headache from crying so hard.

Swallowing down two aspirin and chasing it with water, Harry doesn’t question the presents of the pain pills in the room, Peter is kind of a cluts sometimes, falling off his skate board or tripping over curbs while looking at his phone, getting these wicked bruises all up his body and limbs. He’s come to school with busted lips and faded black eyes.

Luckily, Peter’s always been a fast healer. Growing up, Aunt Mat had told Harry once that Peter could heal cuts and bruises in two or three days, healing as if never there. Harry had bore witness to this, and suspected Peter had a bit of mutate in him, but other than the healing, Harry had never seen Peter do anything inhuman, like lift cars or shoot fire from his nose, which would have been _ fantastic. _

Harry had never told anyone about Peter’s healing, of course. Peter got defensive and edgy whenever Harry brought it up to him as it was. Peter liked blending in, Peter wanted and need to after his aunt and uncle died. It was like Peter thought his world would crumble if anyone thought he was special, if anyone’s eyes stayed on him longer than it took for them to move passed.

Peter grabs and clean shirt from the closet and pulls off his tear stained sleep shirt to replace it, Harry notices the soft, blooming bruises on Peter’s sides from Harry’s hands and a mixed curl of remorse and possessiveness shoots through Harry unbidden and he has to swallow hard to keep it bay.

Nevertheless, when Peter’s clean shirt fell over the like dark spots Harry’s heart hurts. Only Harry and Peter would ever see them before Peter healed them away in a day or two. It was almost like a secret between the two of them.

Before Peter could turn around, Harry stood swiftly from the bed and crossed the small space to lift Peter’s shirt back up and run his fingertips back over the shapes of his hands on Peter’s skin.

A pure, innocent, and curious look passed under Peter’s glasses as he looked down at Harry’s hands trailing over his ribs. “It’s fine,” Peter said softly swatting Harry’s hands away, “They don’t even hurt.” Once again Harry can’t tell if Peter is playing dumb to Harry or if he actually thinks that Harry is sorry for marking him… Maybe- maybe he should be sorry… Fuck.

Ducking his head, Harry whispers out an ashamed, “I’m sorry, Pete-“

“No apologizing,” Peter says dismissively, pushing his glasses up his nose before smiling goofily, “You wanna order some food and play video games?”

Laughing lightly, still a bit flustered but calming down, Harry smiles back, “Sure, whatever you want, Pete.”

Peter smiles brighter, moving toward the door. “Cool. You order. I set up the x-box.” Then he’s out the door bouncing down the hall and down the stairs to the living room.

Harry rubs at his face, his mixed feelings tormenting, but in a good way. So much easier to handle than his father’s crap.

Peter always made things better. He’s wild and energetic but he’s kind.

Harry pulled out his phone and walked out to the hall. Mrs. Leeds’ bedroom door was closed, and Harry assumed she was asleep, she usually was if the door was closed. Ned’s room was open and when Harry stepped into the doorway, the shorter boy turned to him with a slightly uncomfortable and sympathetic face.

“Me and Pete are ordering,” he held up his phone screen to the boy at his desk tinkering on some school work to show the ordering APP for one of Harry’s favorite Indian food places that delivers in Queens. “You want something?”

Ned scrutinizes Harry for a moment, asking, “You sure you want me to join you guys?”

Ned was a good friend to Peter, and he was cool with Harry, even realizing when, and when not, to interject himself into outings with Harry, MJ and Peter, Ned just knowing how Harry felt about Peter. Harry knew Ned knew that he knew so they never said anything out loud about it, but he appreciated Ned’s insightfulness and actually enjoyed his presents, plus Harry could use the distraction to avoid thinking about his dad.

“Yeah, come on,” Harry waved him toward the stairs, “We were going to play some games too.”

“Cool,” Ned follows him down the stairs.

They placed their orders once Peter was done with the x-box and Peter slipped some money to Harry to pay for his portion of the meal, but Harry slipped it back in his pocket when Peter wasn’t paying attention. Ned noticed it, but didn’t say anything, just smiled, shaking his head with amusement.

They played some shooter game that had Peter bouncing in his seat, and Ned shittalking and teasing. Peter was terrible at shooter games, but he loved them. He always ended up getting so hyped, he practically vibrated with energy. And now was so different.

But at some point, Peter’s head lulled against Harry’s shoulder and hands in his lap barely holding his controller as he played. Harry had to circle his arms around Peter to hold his own controller and that put it in a perfect position for Peter to sabotage, slapping and Harry’s hands or pushing the buttons.

Giggly trash talk and soft cries of anguish were cut short by the door bell and Harry had to regretfully move away from Peter on the couch to get the door and pay. When he came back, he wanted nothing but to pull Peter back, but Peter sat on the floor at the coffee table to eat and he stretched out on the floor as they switched games to some racing game.

Time seemed to fly past and it was midnight before Harry knew it and he had to be heading home to get a few hours of sleep before classes tomorrow. He sighed out a great breath and Peter walked him to the door when his car and driver pulled up in front of the condo.

As the car drove away, Harry wasn’t quite able to not glance out the window to watch Peter close the door and disappear into the house. He wasn’t able to not ache with that old familiar pain as he turned back into his seat, either.

He scratched absently at the bug bite on the back of his neck, and let his mind wonder to the feeling of Peter lined against his side and memory of the finger size bruises on his friend’s delicate skin.

After a cramming session of homework, Peter finds himself dropping off the roof in between the hooded figure (a scrawny looking teen covered in acne and poor choices) with a slim-jim and the expensive looking car, Spider-Man rose his eyebrow under his mask. “Excuse me, sir,” he drawled, “You don’t happen to have directions to the nearest-“

The teen dropped the jim and took off down the street.

“Rude,” Peter huffed and bent to pick up the bit of metal, tossing it into the nearest dumpster. “I was just asking for directions,” he jokes, though Karen refuses to laugh.

Peter watches the kid round a corner and disappear. Chasing after the potential crook would be pointless. Karen had said he’d had no prior offences and the kid hadn’t actually done anything yet, so Spider-Man let him go. Maybe he’d learned his lesson. If not, Peter would be here to teach it again.

He flung out a web and threw himself back into the cool night air to continue on his patrol. Peter and Karen had worked on crafting routes based on reported crimes and crimes they’ve come across, the routes shifting and snaking enough each night to both make them less predictable for criminals to work around, and to make sure Peter is in position to sense any crime and get there quick enough to be of use. Crimes tended to certain parts of the neighborhood, places with broken street lights, alleys, ect.

Peter tried to be there for none criminal stuff too. He’d walked plenty a girl, woman, old person home in his stint as the Spider-Man, and he’d thrown himself into burning building to retrieve trapped inhabitants. He didn’t patrols to just stop bad guys, he was there to help.

That’s why he didn’t chase down that teen. He’s not a cop, he’s a hero. He wants that kid on the straight and narrow, a good scare can do that. Sometimes people don’t need someone else hitting them while they’re down, they need someone to give them a second chance.

Being a hero, means giving out second chances-

Gunshots ring out. Peter triangulates the location from the echoes just as Karen gives and approximate location to narrow it down further. He swings himself over to a line of building too short to swing from but Peter can run across them to get where he needs to be. Not as fast as swinging, but the gun isn’t going off anymore, though at least ten or so shots had been fired in quick succession, hopefully whoever was shooting was a terrible shot or it didn’t matter how fast Peter was, there was little hope for them.

  
  
  


There were a few weird things that Spider-Man felt he _ should not _ have to point out, but his mind would not let go them of until he acknowledged them at least a little. 

A: Deadpool, super-powered/very efficient murderer for hire (currently working for Shield), had straight up shot some peeps, like, right over there. Like ten feet below him in the alley. Though by the looks of it, he’d used rubber bullets then tied them up with zip ties, not that it looked like it saved them though.

B: Deadpool, while not outright calling out Spider-Man, was in fact aware that the hero was perched on the fire escape over the alley. He had made explicit and rather aggressively intimidating eye contact when Spider-Man dropped down to said fire escape, before turning back down to the only living man left in group of thugs, whose head was pinned under Deadpool’s boot, the woman they had assaulted being carried out by a man in a green spandex.

C: Spider-Man was not so inclined as he usually was to go down there to help the about-to-be-murdered man (if the gun still in Deadpool’s hand and aimed straight at the guys temple was anything to worry about) because of what he had done to that woman. Rape was terrible and horrible, and group rape was even worse, but they had been cutting her too, as if what they had done wasn’t enough to scar the woman for the rest of her life.

D: Deadpool seemed to realize that Spider-Man wasn’t going to intervene and had stopped himself from killing the man as efficiently as he was known for. Instead he was interrogating the guy with a heavy, dark rumble of voice that sent chills up Spider-Man’s spine. All the while he had holstered his gun, which lead to-

E: Spider-Man had the feeling that Deadpool wasn’t going to kill the guy while he was there.

So, he had two choices, leave and let the man’s justice be as bloody as they had made that woman, or he could save the torturer/rapist. It was a difficult choice, but a necessary one. 

One that could draw a line in the sand for Deadpool. So Deadpool knew on which side of the line Spider-Man stood. The not killing side.

He gritted his teeth painfully and hopped down from the fire escape.

Deadpool’s head snapped over to the hero, grinding his boot in the man’s face. “Nah-uh,” he wags a finger at Spider-Man, “We both know he deserves to die.”

“Peter,” Karen says warningly, “He is very dangerous.” As if that weren’t already obvious.

The man on the floor starts blubbering loudly, “P-P-Please help me Spider-Man-“

“Shut up!” Deadpool screams like a wild animal and Spider-Man nearly staggers back from the pure vitriol in Deadpool’s voice. “YOU DON’T GET TO ASK FOR HELP AFTER WHAT YOU DID!!”

Tears swell in Peter’s eyes and he’s not entirely sure why. It is only slightly the man’s righteous fury that had stirred panic within his spider sense, but maybe it was the pain and anger in Deadpool’s voice, and the realization that the merc had identified with that battered woman. Deadpool had been a victim at one time or another. “Jesusfuck,” Spider-Man blurts as Karen says curtly, “I’m calling the police, Peter.”

“The police are on their way, Deadpool,” Peter tries to reason with the known psycho. “He’s not going to get away with it.”

“You’re damn right Spidey,” Deadpool slides out one of his swords from the sheaths strapped to his back, “Now, run along little Spider, you don’t need to see this.”

Without thinking, Spider-Man closes the distance between the two of them, grabbing Deadpool’s wrist even if the man had made no movement to the man under his boot.

“Peter!” Karen sounds horrified, because she knows Spider-Man is best utilized in long distance combat where he has more room to evade and can rely on his webs to restrain. Peter has a lot of strength in him, his super strength is more of a hindrance than a help in close combat because he has to focus on pulling his punches and not accidentally murdering foos with what feel, to him, like love taps. “Peter, what part of ‘Do not approach,’ did you not understand?” Karen hisses.

“Not now, Karen,” Peter yells frantically, and turns to Deadpool who looks perplexed, but less murder-y.

“Who the fuck is Karen?! Name’s Deadpool, Spider-Baby.”

“How about we just let these guys live for a little while longer Deadpool?” he asks as calmly as he can, but his voice is high and tight, “That woman deserves to face at least one of her attackers and murder him with her own hands when she gets the chance.” It’s a fucked-up logic, but Peter hopes it is a logic Deadpool can understand. It’s the only logic he has at the moment.

Something passes on the man’s face, but his mask hides most of it from Spider-Man. “They don’t deserve to live Spidey,” he croaks, with more shocking emotion. “Especially not the ringleader of this.”

Peter uses his other hand to take the blade from Deadpool’s fingers, “He doesn’t.” he agrees. “But tonight, isn’t his time. Let him suffer in prison, maybe there he’ll learn firsthand what he did to that woman.”

The man under the boot starts blubbering incoherently.

Again, something passes over Deadpool’s face and is hidden under his mask.

“Fiiine,” he snaps, slamming his boot down on the man’s head and knocks him out. “But trust me the next _ one of them _ I meet is going to die for days!”

Spider-Man almost asks if Deadpool runs into lots of rapist/torturers, but, honestly, no matter how cool he tries to act, even thinking the question hurts his heart. Instead Spider-Man shrugs, “As long as it ain’t in front of me, sure.” Which he had a feeling that Deadpool had no plan to kill in front of him anyway, so maybe it’s redundant.

Sirens echo from a few blocks over and they both turn toward them.

“That’s my cue~!” Deadpool sings, snatching his sword from Spider-Man’s hand and sheathing it before racing over to the fire escape, easily jumping up to the ladder and climbing up. “See you around Spider-Butt!”

He’s takes a step to follow and hears Karen’s disapproval in her silence but shoots a web and flings himself up the building anyway.

Unsurprisingly, Deadpool looks unhappy to see him waiting for him at the top. “Don’t you have something more important to be doing right now?” he asks as he jogs across the roof to the next one.

“How long are you planning to be in the city, Deadpool?”

The merc’s heckles raise but he doesn’t trip as he jumps across the gap between the buildings and turns on the hero. “Long enough, Legs. I got a job to do.”

“Does that job include murdering people all over New York City?” Spider-Man doesn’t jump the gap, but calls over it, “Because I think you should know that when people paint the town red, they don’t usually do it in blood.”

Deadpool honest-to-god snickers, and it so unexpected that Peter finds himself smiling under his mask. Even bites back a laugh when Deadpool sounds petulant as he says, “Aw, Spidey everyone else just doesn’t do it right! If you want a town red you have to paint it yourself.”

“Shit,” Spider-Man coughs into his hand to keep from laughing. Since when has his humor been so dark? Deadpool should NOT be about to make Spider-Man laugh, he has a reputation to uphold. Spider-Man is the ‘Good-Guy.’ He’s respectable, and values justice and human life, and does not condone murder. Sure, he can throw out quips every now and again, but he doesn’t laugh at murder jokes…

When Spider-Man looks back over the gap, Deadpool is gone. Peter’s sure if asks Karen where he went, she would not tell him, so he doesn’t ask. Instead he tries to mend the fence. “Sorry Karen,” he says.

She nearly sighs, “I think now would be a good time to go over the available documentation on Deadpool, Peter. He is very dangerous, and unpredictable.”

Peter shoots a web to a taller building and launches himself into the air to throw out another web to swing from, “I’m pretty dangerous too, Karen. I could have killed him in one punch.”

“His healing factor can bring him back from death, Peter,” she warns.

Peter’s heart smashes into his ribs for a beat, and he almost misses his next web, “What? Really?! That’s so cool!”

Halfway through Deadpool’s file, Spider-Man has to take a knee on an abandoned rooftop.

By the end, he finds himself swinging toward Tony’s tower.

Peter climbs up to Tony’s balcony but doesn’t head into the tower. He’s not certain why he is here at all.

Maybe he’s just scared…

How could anyone do that to another person?

Torture… tortured for days on end…years on end?

“Spider-Man?” Peter hears from the door he hadn’t turned to.

He turns now and sees a scantily clothed Pepper Potts and finds his heart swooping with a relief he can’t name, but his voice his still shaking as he whispers out, “Ms. Potts.”

The strawberry blond wraps her billowing robe around herself to hide her sleep shorts and one of Tony’s graphic tees, then waves Peter into the tower. Peter goes without a thought, letting her pull him into a soft embrace as the door closes behind him.

Even without her perfectly pointy shoes, she’s a good few inches taller than Peter as she holds him close and leads him through the unlit living room to the couch. “What’s wrong Spider-Man?” she asks.

Peter finds himself tongue tied, sitting where Pepper wordlessly asks without comment, collapsing like his bones are made of pure lead.

She leans down, placing a kind hand on his cheek, “I was heading to bring Tony up from the lab,” she says softly, “I’ll be right back, okay?” Peter watches her head to the elevator, sending a concerned glance over her shoulder as she waits for Jarvis to bring it up, then disappears behind the metal doors.

Peter’s mind wanders away from him.

Karen’s soft voice replaying in his mind the comprehensive file in bits in pieces. Known mercenary. Cancer. Experimentation and torture. Revenge. A killing spree. Vanessa murdered. X-men. Captain America.

Deadpool had been a Bad Guy. A_ Very _ Bad Man. But he’d been taken and tortured until his mind was splinters, until his mutation presented…

It was horrifying to imagine.

Deadpool had been a _ Very _ Bad Man, but that didn’t mean he deserved torture.

Peter shuttered at the sudden chill of the room.

His mind circled back to Captain America. He’d seen enough in Deadpool to recruit him to Shield.

Redemption. Second chances.

Heroes gave second chances…

Deadpool needed a second chance. He’d been bad, but he’d suffered. Lost his freedom, his normalcy, then his girlfriend.

Pain had tracked after Deadpool with a double barrel and vengeance.

A hand came down on Peter’s shoulder and he launched from his seat. “Holy shitfuck!” Peter screamed, sticking flat to ceiling like the spider he was.

He turned down to a supremely surprised Pepper and Tony.

Tony lowered his hand from where it had been frozen in midair, to place it on his hip. “Language, young man,” Stark drawled with a perfect Captain America tone, though he smiled despite himself.

Deflating, Peter blew out a long breath. Letting his fingers unstick so he could stand upside down on the high ceiling, his arms dangling down. “You nearly scared the shit out of me,” Peter says flatly.

“No fecal matter on my furniture, Spider-Man,” Tony says lightly, “Do we have to go over all the dos and don’ts about being in my tower again? Jarvis is there a list prepared? I think we should get the list prepared if it isn’t. Stick it to the fridge or something-“

Pepper scrunches her nose distastefully, rolling her eyes at Tony’s prattling, though she takes one of Peter’s hands to pat it reassuringly. “You can come down now, sweetie.”

“Wait!” Tony interjects, “Let’s see if the ceiling can hold both our weights.”

“Tony,” Pepper tries to say with distaste, her smile belaying it.

Tony grabs Peter’s arm and lifts his feet to hang a few feet from the ground, “It’s for science, Pep. Harmless science with our Spider child-“

“Spider-Man.” Peter feels he should correct, though he adjusts the stickiness of his feet instantly to keep Tony from yanking him down.

“Jarvis,” Tony calls, “What is the exact weight per square inch?”

Peter smiles, reaches down and lifts Pepper up from where she was holding his hand, her other hand coming up to support her weight instinctively. “Spider-Man!” she laughs as Tony beams with wicked pride.

“That’s my boy!”

Pepper’s musical laughter fills the living space and Peter feels it chase away a bit of his worries. He lowers her back to her feet and she tugs Tony down because the man is still keeping his knees bent to keep his feet off the ground.

“Party pooper,” Tony chides even as he plants a soft kiss on her cheek, and they collapse to the couch with his arm around her shoulder.

Dropping down to his feet, Peter sits on the round coffee table between the two huge, semi-circle shaped couches.

Tony and Pepper look sleepy and comfortable as they lean against each other. Peter always likes when they’re getting along. They’re happiest when they’re together. Pepper especially. Unlike Tony, she doesn’t like to admit she needs someone else to be happy, she likes to be the one who gives comfort, to hold things together. It might not help Tony doesn’t seem to have a clue in how to go about comforting and supporting anyone in any subtle manner, he’s loud and almost obstructive with the force of his caring.

He hopes whatever their fight was about, that it’ll be over for a while. He likes seeing Pepper smile the way Tony makes her.

“So, what’s up?” Tony throws out to Peter as he tangles his fingers in Pepper’s hair as she watches Peter with nurturing eyes.

Peter shifts uncomfortably, not really wanting to admit he’d gotten spooked. Spider-Man doesn’t get spooked. Doesn’t fear anything. Anyone. Spider-Man makes it his mission to never be afraid. He stops those that hurt others, that hurt him. He makes them face their justice.

He’s uncomfortable admitting he had instinctively flung himself toward the tower to hide from a group of erratic bastards torturing people who called it science, especially since Deadpool had made it his mission in life to track down every member of Weapon- X and kill them in increasingly disturbing ways, at least according to his file. 

But even if Weapon-X was finit-oh complete-oh, that didn’t mean there weren’t other groups out there injecting people with painful cocktails and torturing them into presenting mutations. 

Just look what Hydra did to Bucky Barnes, and Hydra isn’t even gone yet, it’s like a fucking weed. Just when you think it’s all gone, another dandelion is pushing up through the sidewalk. Another head to a snake.

Chin down and shoulders slumped, Peter feels too weak to be Spider-Man. He’s a disgrace-

Pepper coos a soft sound and wordlessly pulls Peter from his spot on the table until he is curled against her side with his hand firmly captured by both of hers, with Tony’s arm draped over the both of them.

Pepper’s such a good person. So understanding.

Peter rests his head on her shoulder and brings his knees to his chest, letting his fears take the back seat, as Tony’s hand rest on his shoulder, the weight almost negligible, but comforts Peter like it’s a shield. Like a force field. Like nothing can touch the three of them. Not in this room. Not right now. 

They’re safe.

Tension shakes out of Peter’s body. “Thank you.” he whispers into the dark.

“Of course,” Pepper whispers. “Any time,” Tony confirms. Both replies said easily and earnestly, amazing Peter with their honesty. They care for Peter. Maybe as much as he cares for them.

These last three years… they’ve grown close. Peter hadn’t really expected it, at least not from Pepper.

He’d adored the scientist and hero Tony Stark from a distance for as long as he can remember but being Tony’s protégé had let him grow to appreciate the man behind the public persona, and the red and gold painted mask. He’d learned most of Tony’s faults and in a way, it only made him care for Tony more. Tony was human, he is broken like we all are, but he cares for Peter without preamble or expectation of reciprocation, though Peter obviously cares in return.

But Pepper had always been there with Tony, in one form or another. Mingling at parties or wrenching Tony from his lab, sharing meals when Tony insisted that Peter join them. She never minded his intrusion, never even hinted she didn’t want him around unless her and Tony where literally in the middle of a fight when Peter showed up to the tower, and that was more than understandable. She seemed, from the very beginning, to not only to tolerate Peter because it was polite, but to genuinely want him around. She invited him to parties and dinners, to anything she thought he would like and where he wouldn’t be looked at strangely for wearing a mask. (But to be fair, the whole world already knew Tony was mentor to Spider-Man and so seeing Peter’s mask at events at the Tower was known to happen from time to time.)

After sitting together for over an hour, Tony already snoring softly, Peter decided to let the two grown ups cart themselves to bed.

He sat up gingerly, Pepper’s sleepy eyes turning his way, “I should be heading home,” he whispered.

She smiles softly, “You’re more than welcome to take a guest room,” she offered, “We can turn off all the surveillance to the room like we normally do when you stay over.”

Peter considered it, but he honestly just wanted his bed. “Thank you, but I really think I should go.”

She nodded and they stood together. She walked him to the balcony doors, taking his hand again before he could push through them. “You know you can come here for anything right? Anything at all?” Her light-colored eyes gleamed softly in the faint glow of the half moon light filtering in from the sky. “Not just the Spider-Man stuff…”

Peter knew, though he hated to admit it, that Tony and Pepper knew Peter didn’t have a family. But honestly it wasn’t hard to figure out. Though neither knew his exact age, they knew he hadn’t been an adult when they’d met. Yet, he’d never complained about breaking curfews or sneaking out from under his parent’s noses. He’d mentioned his guardian, Mrs. Leeds (not by name) on accident a few times, but not his parents. Maybe he should have sprinkled in some mention of some nonexistent parent, but it didn’t occur to him until it was too late, until he could see Pepper and Tony unconsciously filling roles Peter didn’t even know to, or even if he could, ask for.

Peter stepped into Pepper’s space to give her a heart tugging hug, thanking her for being there, for everything she did, without having to say a word. The soft sniffling noise she made to stifle her tears let him know she understood him perfectly as she held him just as fiercely.

“It’s good to have you back, Ms. Potts,” Peter whispered as he stepped away.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” she smiled wetly.

Peter pushed out into the cold night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any suggested tags? I'm terrible at them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am embarrassed about my lack of self control here, but I guess it should be good for you all. We're passing the 20,000 word mark for the fic with this chapter. I have up to chapter 11 or so exactly where i want it in terms of story, still need to edit though, and then we got about 10 more chapters after that to either cut or bring into order. I suspect the fic to be about 20 chapters in total, give or take a few. 
> 
> Anywho, I'll let you get to reading. Enjoy that Peter/Wade banter!

_ I’m not evil. _

_ I just practice it on weekends. _

  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Peter’s up just before the alarm, Karen’s soft voice greets him, and he growls as he slips on his wristbands, he had been too tired to don last night and heads to the bathroom where he can wash his face and teeth. He doesn’t go back for his glasses until after, slipping past a sleepy looking Ned whose shirt is on backwards.

Peter grunts out a hello and Ned groans back.

The usual morning routine.

He changes into something remotely presentable, stuffs his suit in his secret pocket of his bag and grabs The Yellow Jacket of Enforced Importance from the back of his chair then meets Ned by the door and they burst out into the morning right on time.

Both on their boards, Ned and Peter swerve through the other pedestrians on the street, stopping at corner vender for pretzels and paying with most of Peter’s pocket change.

They’re both still sleepy, and lethargic as they continue on their journey, but Karen’s playing something electric and lively in an attempt at to sooth Peter back into wakefulness. He hums his appreciation around his pretzel.

Getting to school just before the first bell, they have just enough time to store their boards in their lockers, then Peter’s floating through all of his morning classes as usual. Waking up gradually as lunch approaches but taking studious notes in each class and turning in homework. Like. A. Boss.

Peter ambles over to his usual spot under a tree with his lunch, mildly surprised to not find Harry there to stop Ned from harassing MJ about giving him hints about what is on the test for a class he has for fifth period and she had just before lunch.

“It’s no use,” Peter says sitting in the shade beside them, “She’s stubborn as an ox.”

MJ shoots him a glare, but doesn’t defend herself, making Ned pout.

“Where’s Harry?” Peter asks struggling with his milk carton.

“Sick,” MJ says softly and they share a concerned look. Harry never misses school on test days unless he is _ really _ sick. “I’m going to drop by his place after school,” she adds and Peter nods thankfully.

“Yeah, tell me how it goes,” Peter requests, finally getting his milk open.

“You want stool samples too, Dr. Peter?” Ned teases.

“Ew! Ned,” MJ complains.

“_ Actually _,” Peter puts on a considering face and MJ throws a potato chip at him, “Duude! It landed in my milk!”

Ned laughs and MJ smiles triumphantly. “You want stool samples, Parker, you’re getting those yourself!”

Peter pouts dramatically before just shrugging and drowning the rest of his milk, chip and all.

He’s walking to class after lunch when Karen forwards him a text from Tony that his upgraded suit is ready to be picked up at his earliest convenience. He has her send a confirmation text that he will be there tonight to pick it up and try it out.

Spider-Man, in full dress, swings up to Stark Tower, throwing himself into the tail end of his arch to land him on the balcony of the penthouse at the top. God, he loved being a superhero. He loved swinging around.

He sauntered up to the door and Jarvis greeted him as he stepped inside, “Good evening, Spider-Man.”

“Hey Jarvis,” Peter replied, heading straight to the open kitchen, “Tony coming up or should I go grab the finished suit from his lab?” he started rummaging through the cabinets to hedge off Tony’s Italian Mother Fretting™ at his thin frame even as he insists on calling Peter ‘kid.’

Honestly, Peter could probably gorge himself all day and never be full (his metabolism is a beast). But just because he _ could _ eat down an entire herd of cattle with his bottomless pit of a stomach, that doesn’t mean he’s constantly hungry. His body is actually pretty efficient. As long as he eats a little more when he gets injured, he’s able to maintain a steady body weight, even if most of it is compact muscle.

“Sir, should be up with the suit soon. ETA twenty minutes.”

Peter pulled out a few protein bars and hopped on the counter, “Twenty minutes? What, is he taking a dump?” Peter laughed (Come on! Shit is always funny, man!). Jarvis and Karen didn’t seem to agree, both disapprovingly quiet. Peter rolls up his mask enough to shove a whole protein bar in his mouth, and smiles mischievously, “Party pooper,” he accuses, snorting like an idiot around the food in his mouth. Pooper.

“Sir is in a call with the rest of the Avengers,” Jarvis supplies, and Peter’s interest is piqued mildly. While he isn’t ready to take on the responsibility of being an Avenger, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to help people still. He swallows his food and unwraps the next bar, “They need any help?”

“It’s just a routine weekly check-in,” Jarvis tells him, which is interesting. Peter had no idea the Avengers got together on a call once a week to check in. He wonders if is like a professional thing, or if they really are good friends. However, if Tony hadn’t mentioned it ever, it’s less likely a work thing.

He devours the last of his protein bars and pulls down his mask. Then, moves over to windows. The city is still alive outside.

Windows of the buildings still lit with people moving beyond them.

Cars moving down on the street with helicopters floating around every now and again up above.

All of it set against a dark sky. Against the shadows. Against the asphalt.

Sometimes Peter just falls in love with the city all over again, and all it takes is a view like this and a moment of calm. A moment of rest. When the love hits, it makes him want to go put on the suit and go swinging just for fun. To just be alive in the city that never sleeps, in the city that thrives after world ending disasters tear at it, a city that rebuilds, that refuses to be held back, refuses to be restrained, to be anything but what it is, to be anything but free.

Spider-Man feels his fingers itch, feels too heavy on his feet, feels too cooped up. Wants to go out, to let go, to fly, to be _ out there _ and not _ in here _. His mouth waters with the idea of the free fall before he casts out the next web, with the pull and strain of his muscles as he throws himself through the air, through the sky. His heart beats for that feeling. For the feeling of being alive, of saving someone before they’re hurt, of punching out criminal’s lights so when the police show up, they had to peel murders and robbers off the pavement.

How often in our lives do we get to feel alive? How often do people get to make a difference? But Peter gets to. _ Spider-Man _ gets to.

You know what, forget the new suit. Spider-Man has better things to do. He’ll come back for it another time.

He’s two huge steps toward the door when there’s a voice behind him, “Leaving so soon?”

Peter almost jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouts and grabs at his heaving chest as he turns to a familiar black and red clad merc. When did he get here?

Deadpool is sitting back on the red couch, his arms crossed behind his head, his legs splayed wide as he lounges as if he owns the place. He looks like he’s in the lap of luxury.

“Jeez, make a noise!” Peter screeches, his voice a hundred octaves too high, and Deadpool laughs easily at his discomfort.

Peter clears his throat, puts a hand on his waist and canted his hips to the side wagging a finger at Deadpool, “We should put a bell on you.” He can easily see the smile that splits Deadpool’s face under the mask by the stretch of its fabric, and despite nearly having the day lights scared out of him a second ago, Peter’s mouth tugs up at the corners.

Deadpool crosses his legs, leaning forward to prop his chin on his fist, “Sorry about that, you looked so lost in the whole ‘Superhero observe the city in brooding silence’ thing, that I thought it best not to disturb you.”

Self-consciously, Peter looks back over his shoulder to the windows before turning back to shrug noncommittally, “Didn’t realize I was the brooding type.”

Deadpool leans back into the couch, “Silly spider,” he coos in mock affection, “Didn’t you get the memo? Brooding is Superhero requirement number one.”

“Damn,” Peter smacks his thigh, “I knew I shouldn’t have skipped my 8 a.m. Superhero 101 class. It was just so damn early in the morning, and I’m a natural late-sleeper, ya know?” Sauntering over to the opposite couch as Deadpool, Peter flops down and tries to subtly mirror the huge man’s nonthreatening body language, crossing his legs and leaning comfortably back. “So, what you doing here anyway?”

Peter can see Deadpool taking note of Peter’s body language. No doubt, he recognizes Peter’s attempt at subconsciously trying to get him to open up.

This thought is confirmed when Deadpool crosses his arms over his chest, and raising a brow under the mask as he asks, “How do you know I didn’t break in, Webs?”

Having been caught -WOOPS- Peter just smirks and uncrosses his legs, “Because Jarvis would’ve set off _ all _the alarms unless you were invited in.”

“Pushaw, I don’t know what you’re talking about, me and Jarvis are old pals,” he turns up to the ceiling, “Ain’t that right, Blinky?”

Jarvis is deathly quiet.

Deadpool squawks -like, really _ squawks _\- an offended noise.

Peter laughs out loud.

Deadpool has no right to be so funny. Karen had forced Peter to listen to a rant about how dangerous the mercenary was, about all his confirmed kills and unstable mental health. And the man certainly fit the picture. He was tall, built and covered in weapons. But he’s also ridiculous. A similar kind of ridiculous as Peter.

If Peter had any common sense he would leave right now, and go find Tony, find his suit and get the hell out of here. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to know more.

“Did you really just call one of the most sophisticated AI’s in the world ‘Blinky’?” Peter chokes, trying his hardest not to giggle even as he asks the question.

“It’s a term of endearment!” Deadpool says dramatically throwing up his arms, “What else am I supposed to call him?”

Peter laughs again, “I think he prefers ‘Jarvis’.”

Deadpool leans forward lowering his voice in a rich, dark rasp, “Oh, you would like that wouldn’t you, _ Webs _?”

Peter leans forward too, painting his voice with a dark tone too, “Sure would, _ Red _.”

“Legs.” Deadpool shoots back.

“Dee Pee.”

“Spidey.”

“Alive-Pond.”

Deadpool snorts out a huge noise, that makes Peter feel almost smug. He wipes at the corner of his lenses on his mask as if brushing away tears, “That was a good one, Spider-baby.”

“Gramps.”

Sucking in a breath in a gasp, Deadpool holds a hand to his heart, “Shots fired! Shots fired! My heart, Baby boy! You’ve broken it.” He falls over to the side, holding a hand to his head like a stereotypical damsel, “I think I need mouth to mouth.”

Peter lounges back in his seat, inspecting his gloves languidly, “Nooo, I don’t think I will.”

Deadpool flops around on the couch like a fish, “But you’re the herooo!”

Shrugging, Peter looks out the window using his best disinterested voice to drawl out, “I’m on break.” Even if his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s smiling.

The merc slips off the couch and slams onto the floor with a solid ‘Thump!’ “OOW~!” he cries and Peter’s busting up again.

Honestly, Peter can’t remember the last time someone made Peter smile this hard, made him laugh so much his sides hurt. It almost felt surreal that this man was the same one who had shot down and hog tied a group of men in alleyway, who had screamed at the top of his lungs with spit-slinging anger, who pulled out a sword to potentially gut a man. A man who had looked so dark and looming in that alley that he looked like he could have cut down the world without a second thought.

Now? In a relaxed setting? Peter was blessed with a laugh riot of a man who fell into perfect banter with him. With a man who was loose and comfortable and joking around. No one could ever keep up with Spider-Man when he started acting like an idiot, but Deadpool was doing it easily.

Getting to his feet, Peter walked over to Deadpool and held out a hand to help him up. The merc looked up at him curiously, not immediately taking Peter’s outstretched hand.

“We never were properly introduced,” Peter says, and leans down just a little, “Hi, I’m Spider-Man.”

Deadpool maintains his stare for a few more seconds before he reaches for Peter’s hand, “Wade Wilson,” he says, “AKA Deadpool AKA Merc with a Mouth AKA Dee Pee AKA your future husband AKA-“ Peter cuts off the rest of the titles by using his super strength to haul the man to his feet. “Woah.” Deadpool gapes at the show of strength.

Peter takes back his hand and brushes off nonexistent lint from his sleeves, “I know.”

“Oh, so it’s a gun contest?” Deadpool asks and immediately starts flexing, “I’m not sure you could beat me,” he declares smugly.

For the first time all night, Peter feels his face burn bright red.

Because it is one thing to acknowledge that Deadpool is built, to know that the man looks like solid muscle with arms as thick as Peter’s thighs. But it is a whole ‘nother enchilada to be point blank range of Deadpool’s leather clad purposeful flexing, that draws obvious attention to the man’s shoulders, his arms, pecs, thighs.

It feels almost like someone setting off his spider sense, but with pleasure instead of fear. A beautiful, thrill of electricity shooting up Peter’s spine. His dick perking up just bit in his protective cup.

He’s reminded of the time he ran into Deadpool while they were both out of costume. That under the white lenses of his mask, the merc has bright, dazzlingly blue eyes and a wide, perfectly wicked smile.

He’s reminded that he had actually gotten a chance to touch Deadpool’s hard, thick arms when he had caught him by the arm when he tripped.

Deadpool kinda looks and feels like sexy personified- Holy shit!!! Peter did not just think that!

Peter chokes on spit with a sharp inhale and starts coughing like a mad man, internally screaming at his dick to ‘Calm the fuck down!’ His face is nearly in flames it’s so hot.

Tony -thankfuckinggod- Stark chooses that moment to walk in with a very familiar looking silver case and Peter nearly runs to the man. Instead, he just turns all his attention to Tony, not daring to take a step, least it draw attention to how close to panic he is.

“Sup, kid,” Tony greets handing him the silver case, before turning a slightly annoyed, but expectant look at Deadpool who crosses his arms defensively. As nonchalantly as he can, Tony turns back to Peter and adds, “Help yourself to the kitchen, you’re too thin, kid.” Which eases the flames of Peter’s panic and embarrassment but replaces it with annoyance. Both at the mother-hening and the referring to him as ‘kid.” He is a legal adult now!

“I already raided the cupboards, _ Mom _.” If his irritation isn’t clear enough, Peter huffs an indignant noise, pointily turns on his heel and marches out to the balcony with the case firmly in hand. Normally Peter takes the time to test out the suit in Tony’s training room in case he can point out any flaws in the suit immediately, but Peter’s ready to flee, so he will.

He’s a little curious what Tony and Deadpool are doing together, but it is neither his business or main priority to keep track of Deadpool.

“Later, DP,” Peter calls over his shoulder and pushes through the doors to the balcony.

“Catch you on the flipside, Webs,” Deadpool calls back cheerily, which seems to ruffle Tony’s feathers significantly, which was probably the desired effect.

Peter takes a running start off the balcony and does a flip before he disappears over the edge because Peter is a show off and he knows both men are looking after him. And well, Deadpool kind of prompted him to.

{He did a flip!} Yellow downright swoons.

Wade nearly swoons himself, because _ that _ was purely showing off. The kid was just showing off for him and Tony Stark, and after the last half hour Wade had spent with the kid, he is fairly impressed by him, and glad that he had given into the urge to vet the fellow trainee, who had been doing the same thing to him.

Wade had noticed the spider had tried to match his posture in the beginning, trying to build repour, but once he realized he had been caught, he relaxed despite it. He wondered if Spider-Man had realized that he started unconsciously mirroring Wade’s body language in the middle of their conversation, sitting forward when Wade did, tilting his head when Wade fell over. Little stuff like that. It was interesting, and kinda sweet.

[He called us ‘DP.’] White makes a gagging noise.

{It was freakin’ _ cute _!}

Wade agreed. Plus, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Spider-Man had been smiling under his mask, not just indulging Wade in his mouthy-self but genuinely enjoying throwing back words and jokes. Teasing and kidding around with ease. Then the little spider had to go start laughing, affection had swelled high in Wade’s chest. Spider-Man’s laugh was like a song from heaven in all its snorting goodness. Spidey was a beautiful little thing.

“What did I say about staying away from Spider-Man?” Tony Stark intercepts his thoughts.

“Hey, you said to get my ass to the tower. So here I am.”

Stark scowled and turned on his heel and started down the hall, not bothering to beacon Wade to follow. “I _ asked _ you to get your ass to the conference room-“

“And how was I supposed to know where that is? I don’t know the layout of this place and you said I wasn’t allowed to snoop around the tower unsupervised.”

“Spider-Man is not supervision,” Stark shot over his shoulder before he turns to face Wade with hands on his disapproving hips, “And were you two flirting in my living room?”

Wade gasps dramatically, “I resent that! It’s called banter, Iron-Foot! Get on my level.”

Stark rolls his eyes, before pointing at Wade seriously, “Not that I should have to say it, but: no flirting with my protégé.” Then is back to striding down the hall to a glass walled conference room with a huge monitor with Serious Looking Schematics and Data on it. Wade is filled with promise at the sight of it.

Does this mean he finally gets to do some real work?

Peter swings home and drops off the new suit under his bed. If the suit needs tweaking, he doesn’t want to find out while on patrol.

A gentle jingle plays against Peter’s ear, “Message from MJ,” Karen tells him and Peter digs his phone out from his desk.

‘_ I found him in the gym!!! _ ’ then a few seconds later, ‘ _ He had a 104 fever this morning, and I find him bench pressing like twice his weight _.’

A sneaky laugh creeps up Peter’s throat, ‘_ At least we know he’s feeling better _.”

‘_ You are no help at all _.’

Smiling, he drops his phone on his desk and goes back to the window to fling himself out.

For a city that usually lives up to the rumor it never sleeps, it’s pretty slow out. Karen even feels the need to make small talk to keep Peter from falling asleep he’s so bored.

“Maybe we should consider talking to Mr. Stark about redesigning your glasses to something a little less… hipster,” she cuts into the quiet as Peter jumps from dark rooftop, to dark rooftop.

“Are we really going to argue about this again?” Peter sighs dropping down to street level. “Looking ordinary is _ the point _, Karen.”

“You don’t look ordinary, even with the hipster glasses,” Karen huffs, making Peter scrunch his nose under the mask as he comes to a halt at an intersection with a few cars passing.

“I feel like that could either be a complement or a sick burn,” Peter contemplated before coming to the conclusion, “Either way, I don’t like it!” The light for pedestrians turns green and he starts across the street. “The machines have learned backhanded compliments, next they’ll be launching war on the human race. Hide the children!” Luckily there is no one on the sidewalk to hear him laugh at his own joke.

“_ Hide the children _,” Karen sounds incredulous.

“You would tell me if I turned you evil, right Karen?” Peter asked as he peeked down a deserted alley and behind a dumpster, Karen’s silence is as unsettling as it is to be expected. “You’d let me know if I ruined your faith in humanity? I have better jokes…” he rethinks, “I could steal some better jokes from the internet.”

“I thought that was where all your jokes came from, Peter.”

He feigns a shot to the heart, “I need a cardiologist. My AI has mortally wounded me.”

Karen laughs in her silence.

Something has Peter’s spider sense ringing like a bell and he’s twirling on his heel to see the garbage truck bulldozing down the street with no driver.

“Well, this just _ won’t _ do,” Peter flings out a web and sling shots himself toward the moving vehicle, landing against the driver door. He tries the handle but finds it locked, and the truck is headed right toward a busy intersection. “Sorry window,” he says before smashing an elbow through the glass of the driver’s side door that explodes in a rain of sharp little cubes he doesn’t have a chance to brush away as he climbs into the truck- did Peter ever mention no one had ever taught him how to drive- “Where the hell is the Emergency brake!?”

Karen lights it holographically through his lenses and Peter pulls the break and the truck tires screech like banshees, but thankfully the couple-ton truck slows down significantly. It rolls to a heavy stop.

With only a few feet until the intersection, too.

A guy could have started to believe the coast was clear and could have gone out to find a very embarrassed city worker, but before he could, Peter’s spider sense started _ screaming _, RUN. No time to fix it. Just RUUUUUN!

He bails back out the window and is only a few yards away when the dump truck explodes. He was nowhere near far enough away and the concussive force has him ass over tea kettle and smashing into the solid, security shield in front of a mom and pop store front.

Just so we have an accurate sense of time. It is _ the middle _ of the night. Most stores around here are closed. The only traffic is people coming through to head toward clubs, pick up cigarettes from corner stores, or something seedier. So maybe Peter should have questioned what the hell a dump truck was doing making the rounds at this time at night. Maybe he should have questioned the locked door. Or the fact no one was chasing down the huge beast of a thing. Maybe he should have actually registered the ticking he had heard when he’d been pulling the E-brake, but you know what they say about hindsight.

“Oooow,” Peter gasps from his dazed pile of bones on the concrete. His ears were ringing something fierce and all Peter could smell is smoky garbage… which made sense, even if the truck wasn’t actually on fire as much as it was that the cab of it just wasn’t there anymore and the rest of it was on its side. 

Shrapnel was sprinkled all over the street like twisted metal confetti and sticking out Peter’s forearm like Peter was practicing to be a kabob. “That… is not good,” Peter frowned dumbly.

Peter’s eyes dart over to the movement in the intersection. There is an overturned car in the middle of it. But the man behind the wheel is being pulled out and looks as dazed as Peter feels but relatively fine, even if he is staring up into the sky with a look of pure terror. Uh-oh.

His spidey sense tells him to hightail it again, and this is one of those times that if his body could have, it would have done it yesterday. His leg muscle twitch, try to pick him up, but his knees won’t hold his weight.

An arm grabs Peter around the middle and hauls him up into the air, and another explosion goes off where he had been laying.

His savior and he smash onto the roof of the adjacent building.

Although it is Peter’s instinct to twist them in the air to catch their fall, she lands on her feet just fine, Peter strewn in her arms like a damsel on some Nora Roberts romance cover.

The dark haired, red lipstick and leather jacket wearing, booze-soaked stench of a woman with big eyes and a slight face looks down at him, “You doing okay there Bug-boy?”

“I feel sexualized somehow,” Peter gripes, “Just because I’m a smol-boi doesn’t make me a damsel.”

She lays an unimpressed look at him, “I get that this is your job and all, champ, but I think you might have a concussion.” She goes to set Peter down, but his spider sense has him on his feet and ducking them away. “Hey! What are you do-“

He looks up just in time to see the Green Goblin swerve through the sky, his bright orange bomb coming straight for them.

Goblin… what an asshole.

Peter shoots a web that sends it back toward the crazed guy on a glider. “I’m just trying to blow you away, _ Spider-Man _!” the Goblin cackles but dodges it with ease, even escapes the blast it makes in the sky, but by then Peter is vaulting over the edge of the roof, using his webs to sling himself up and into the Goblin’s trajectory. The arm with metal shrapnel is not very happy about this turn of events.

“Who knew setting a trap and trying to kill a guy made him angry!” Peter growls.

He smashes, feet first into the Goblin’s chest. The villain grunting and forcibly dismounting backward off his glider, and Peter bouncing back into a flip the lands him just barely on the building he had jumped from.

The glider comes back to catch its rider, the goblin throwing a bomb just as he lands, and Peter has just enough time to kick the thing back in his direction before another is on its way. He doesn’t have time for any proper aim so he just sends it straight up, but the blast sends him sideways into a narrow alleyway between the buildings.

He gets a face full of gargoyle, rough brick, then the metal bars over a window, a dumpster, then the ground.

He maaaaay have blacked out for a second somewhere in between the dumpster and the foul smelling concrete. Who’s to say?

The good news? The metal shrapnel was torn out of his arm leaving a terrible wound. Yay for tetanus!

Someone drops down to the alley and Peter gets an eye full of black combat boots and skinny jeans when he looks toward the sound. “You really stuck the landing,” the woman who’d saved him before huffs, raising an eyebrow at him before rolling her eyes and walking over, pulling off her scarf. “I thought you hero types were supposed to be good at it. ”

She kneels down and wraps her scarf around his injured arm. “Don’t get me wrong, the whole Circus Solee thing was beautiful, but your closing could _ use some work. _” She sounded somewhere in the vicinity of teasing and mocking.

Peter’s pretty concussed, and his whole body feels like a bruise, so, “The Goblin?” is all he can slur.

“Buzzed away,’ she shrugged, trying off her scarf roughly. “Come on,” she says standing, “Someone is sure to have called the cops.” She hooks an arm under Peter’s back, easing him up to standing with too much strength for her size. And now that Peter thinks about it, did she fly them to that roof!?

“You’re a mutant?” Peter asks as she limps them out of the alley and down the street away from the blown up truck and wrecked car.

“Mutate, but tomato-tomorrow,” she growls out.

“Potato,” Peter grunts.

“Exactly,” she rolls her eyes.

Peter likes her.

“You got a name?” Peter asks.

She gives him a side eye and ducks into the next alley, setting him down on a metal trash can lid. “Look kid, this ain’t my day job- I was just passing by- It was a one time-“ she growls at herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. She reaches into her pocket for a business card that she hands over, Peter’s still a little cross eyed so he just looks back up at her face. “Jessica Jones. She introduced herself. “PI. You need someone to track down an ex, find out if your current boo is cheating, look no further.” She taps on the card loose in his hand, “_No_ _masked vigilante stuff._ I don’t do tights.”

Peter looks down at his legs, “These aren’t tights!”

“Your ass begs to differ,” she shoots back, and Peter’s face is burning hot with embarrassment.

“Look. That’s not the point,” she says taking a step back toward the street.

“What’s the point?” he asks dumbly.

She smirks and turns her back on him, “Whatever you got going on, all of which I am sure is unpaid, leave me out of it next time, Okay? Okay!” She walks away briskly, disappearing into a liquor store.

“She was nice,” Karen surprises Peter by saying, but he smirks.

“Not the words I’d use, but yeah, she’s cool.” Peter looks up down at his still bleeding arm and feels his still swimming head and decides to call it a night. Green Goblin won’t be out to kill him or terrorize anyone for a few more weeks, he’s got to go wherever he calls home and lick his wounded pride and think of something else Halloween themed to make a smoke bomb out of.

Peter should head home too. So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally love this chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comment section?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what your thinking. And i realize i just updated yesterday. Don't you judge me!

_ You weren’t supposed to be so beautiful, to turn my breath to shock. You weren’t supposed to match my fingerprints to fingerprints, to reach out as I did, to reach for darkness as it reached out for you. _

_ I had planned to steal you from the world, but you stole my world from me instead. _

_ You never let me fall behind, never let me step away. You held me softly to the sky and let me shiver in the light, let me relearn the pulse of his world as if it where the pulse under your skin. _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Sitting at under the tree at lunch, Peter jabs at his forearm. The gaping wound had healed overnight- Peter having eaten god-damn close to his weight in corndogs from a vender this morning. All that was left to show for his trouble is a scabby looking bit of skin on both sides that looks kinda like a scar, or kinda like he has hives.

It itches too. 

He starts scratching at it.

Harry plops down next to Peter with a stack of books and his lunch. “Hey, Har, what causes hives?”

Putting his books aside he raises an eyebrow, looking where Peter is mauling his arm with his nails. The whole area is raised, red, and irritated.

He grabs Peter’s hand and pulls it away, “Maybe you shouldn’t scratch away the evidence,” he says kindly, “and go to a doctor or something?”

Which is Sound Advice ™ .

“For what?” Ned asks dropping in front of Peter.

“My hives,” Peter frowns tucking his arm against his stomach and pulling his Super Special Yellow -supposedly gold- jacket sleeve back down.

“Hives?” MJ asks sitting to Peter’s other side, oddly as far away from Harry as she could get. “Like that time you swore you had Ebola?”

“It could have happened!” Peter defended himself.

“You’re a hypochondriac,” she said seriously. “You didn’t even have the flu.”

Peter pouted out his lip and fell into Harry’s shoulder, “Daaad, she’s being mean again,” he said, MJ going red.

“Be nice to your brother,” Ned fake chastised her.

“Listen to your mother,” Harry laughed, wrapping a reassuring arm around Peter’s shoulders before Peter remembered his lunch and pulled it out.

He picked up his tuna on rye and taking a bite- aw man, they forgot his pickles. He asked for pickles on it.

“What’s with all the books?” Ned asked around a sip of milk.

Harry and MJ’s shoulders rose at the same time. MJ’s eyes falling while Harry’s found her face before turning away.

“Superheros,” Harry says shyly, “I wanted… wanted to find out more about them.”

Peter’s eye shift between MJ and Harry, uncertainly. Something’s… off.

“You should talk to Peter about them,” Ned blurts. “I bet he knows loads!”

Peter wishes sometimes that he where a super villain and not a hero. Then he’d have like a laser gun to blast himself- or Ned, defiantly Ned- off the face of the planet so no one blows his secret identity. Ned smiles like the little shit he is, “You know,” he says lightly before adding, “Because he works in Iron-Man’s labs.”

Harry smirks like Ned is the cutest thing on two legs, “Most internships don’t involve working with the boss of billion dollar companies, Ned.”

“Oh, so that’s just yours?” Ned asks his smile growing. “There’s no one else interning for the guy who wants to make them king one day?”

Harry makes an uncomfortable face and picks at his lunch without comment. Peter follows Harry’s train of thought straight to Norman. To how the man _ is willing _ to make Harry the king of his company, but it isn’t without its pounds of flesh.

Ned’s humor dies in a blink, being replaced by slight horror. “I-I- I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine,” Harry interrupts Ned’s sputtering. Peter wraps Harry’s fingers with his own. He glances a small smile Peter’s way before pulling his hand away, “Besides,” he picks out one his books from the pile, it has vintage photo of Professor Xavier on it. “I just wanted something to fill my free time.”

After his last class, Peter is on his way to meet up with Ned so they can walk home together when MJ siddles over. “Let me guess,” he sighed shifting his bag on his shoulder as he stepped around a girl hardcore making out with her girlfriend, “You heard I to have to defuse a thermo-nuclear bomb for my English homework?”

MJ rolled her eyes, “The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?”

Peter gasped dramatically, “How dare you upset my world view?” he teased but he couldn’t help but notice the red rim around her eyes. He wrapped her shoulders in his arm.“Hey, what’s up?” 

She rested her head on his shoulder, “Have you talked to Harry since lunch? He’s been acting like a real jerk.”

“Like an idiot kind of jerk or the asshole kind?”

She sniffled lightly, “Both?”

Peter hummed as he thought. He hadn’t been texting much over the last few hours.. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said at a loss for words.

She sighed, “I’m just giving you a heads up.” She pulled out of his arm as he stepped up to order, “I’m gonna go hang out in the library with Gwen, I’ll see you later, okay?” She was already turned and walking away before Peter could respond.

As usual Peter was the first to their spot under the tree, but Ned was there a moment later shoving his phone in Peter’s face, “Dude, look at this. Stark is holding a party at his house for supers next week, tell me you’re going!” 

Peter frowned severely, pushing Ned’s phone away, “Ned! Ex-Nay on the secret identity-Nay! Jeez!” 

He started walking toward home, Ned keeping step.

“But Peter you could be so cool!”

“What? I’m cool!” Peter squeaked indignantly. 

Ned made a face but dropped it to look down at his phone and the press release, “But you could be so much cooler if people knew. You’d get invited to so many parties.”

Peter’s mind flashed back to sophomore year and his abysmal experience where he chickened out to showing up to Liz’s party as Spider-Man. It had felt wrong and manipulative.

Spider-Man wasn’t a party trick, still isn’t. It’s a responsibility.

“We’re still not telling anyone, Ned.”

That night Peter pulls on his suit and grabs out the gleaming, silver case he got from Mr. Stark last night. He webs it to his back and crawls out his window.

He swings his way over to his closest ‘hidey hole.’ The somewhat safehouses he has hidden all over the city. He hides a backpack of a change of clothes, a handful of dollar bills, for the train or bus ride home, and a sparse medical kit(sometimes just a needle and thread, and an antiseptic wipe) in little hidden places, air vents, bathroom drop ceilings, abandoned buildings, everywhere. 

This one is in an abandoned warehouse’s bathroom. 

While the old suit had been navy and burgundy. Karen managed to get Tony to give him a black and burgundy suit.

It is mostly black with a burgundy on the palms of his gloves and souls of his boots. His mask is all burgundy but for the white lenses, and the black trim, the burgundy draping over his shoulders and outlining the white Spider-Man emblem over his sternum.

The shins, forearms, and chest of his suit have been minimally reinforced with a light weight material. Tony would have had Peter in a suit of armor like a medieval knight if he had it his way, but Peter was more than willing to give up protection in favor of flexibility and less weight.

The heavier the suit, the harder to swing, flip and dodge the way he is used to. As it stands, Peter is fast enough to dodge bullets on pure instinct as long as they aren’t point blank range.

The Nano-bots have made the suit resistant to knife slashes and bullet ricochet, and if it manages to get cut or torn, all he has to do it push the fabric back together and Karen has the capability to reform the material. _ And _ the fabric is _ still _ thermoregulated.

As always, the wrists of the suit still leave operational room for both his mechanical and natural shooters, and, as always, he has a tight pocket on his waist that has a concealed opening along the edges of the subtle web patterns. The pocket can fit a spare phone or a wallet if Peter ever carried them but is just for small things like that.

_ This _ suit is Peter’s favorite, he thinks as he checks out himself in the cracked mirror. Peter looks _ awesome _. If Peter wasn’t already salivating at the look of it, the lining of the suit? Oh-ooooh god, like butter on his skin.

“Karen,” Peter sighs, “We need to send Tony a fucking fruit basket or something.”

“Should I send him your thanks?” she asks with amusement in her voice.

He stuffs his old suit in the backpack that had been hidden in the air duct over the mirror, adding in the metal suitcase with a second back up suit. “Yeah, sure,” he tells her. “Tell him we owe him for this lining alone.” He throws on the backpack.

“It was your idea, Peter,” she tells him.

“No!” Peter squeals, “He used my fabric design from the Stark lab?”

“He was looking for the best, your work was the softest within his parameters of flexibility and strength.”

Peter smiles brightly, clicking his heels as he jumps out to the warehouse, big enough for Peter to get some privacy, but still have space to test out the suit. He does a few gymnastic moves before sprinting and throwing out a web and swinging up the rafters on near silent feet. 

“Peter,” Karen says before he can continue on with his testing, “I am getting reports over the police scanners of an explosion down by the docks.”

“We gotta stop by the apartment first to drop off my suits.” 

“It’s on the way. I’m showing the route on your HUD.”

“On it.” he drops down and throws out two webs with each arm to slingshots himself out the missing window and flips out into the night.

Peter only takes a short detour to drop off his stuff but by the time he gets to the docks, all he finds is a lot of emergency vehicles and a few smoking buildings. Peter wasn’t a pyrotechnics expert but the fire looked like it had swept through the buildings faster than tissue paper.

“There’s not much left,” he commented.

“Not much you can do here,” Karen agreed.

He decided to leave it to the experts, fire personnel and police already all over the place. 

He throws a web and swings back toward his patrol route, deciding to make himself useful where it counted. 

He is on his second pass through when something caught his eye.

Daredevil, AKA Matt Murdock the blind attorney by day, blind kick-ass vigilante by night, is sitting on his favorite Chinese food place’s roof in Hell’s Kitchen when Peter spots him and arches his next swing in that direction.

He’s surprised to see Hawkeye, AKA Clint Barton the ‘Arrow’ of this universe but deaf, when he touches down, but he can’t help but smile. “So, a blind guy and deaf guy walk into a bar…” Peter starts as he walks over.

It doesn’t matter that Matt’s other senses are so good that Matt doesn’t need to see to be a fucking lethal weapon, or that with his cochlear implants Barton isn’t completely deaf, because the joke’s still funny.

“Ha-Ha, you hypocritical Asshole,” Hawkeye flips him off, from his sprawl on the roof, a bloody towel pressed to his forehead. “You don’t get to be mean to me right now, I was busy being a hero all evening while you were out doing your Zumba class-“

“No one does Zumba anymore, you old fart-” Peter interrupts playfully.

He heaves a sigh before continuing, “Or _ whatever _it is you do while not in the suit.” He looks over and sees Peter’s new suit, “HEY! That’s new? Black is your color.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Peter flaps a loose wrist at the hero, smiling under the mask, doing a little spin and striking a pose for their benefit.

Daredevil, who had been wrapping an ace bandage around Hawkeye’s ankle, glances over then, he makes a confused face under his half mask before he asks, “What’s it made of?”

Peter flinches when Karen answers, “Vibranium,” in Peter’s ear, Daredevil, with his superior hearing, picks up on it.

“Vibranium? That’s some pretty expensive stuff,” he comments, obviously impressed but trying to hide it under a neutral expression.

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter grumbles under his breath.

“Kid’s got a benefactor, i.e. Tony Stark.” Hawkeye huffs and wiggles his ankle at Daredevil to get his attention back on it. Rolling his eyes under the suit, Daredevil turns back to his injured partner.

Shaking himself off, Peter sits down next to Hawkeye’s shoulder and peels off the bloody towel to inspect the gash on his forehead he’s trying keep pressure on, before replacing it. He turns to the meager medical supplies spilling out of Hawkeye’s tactical bag and finds the antibacterial spray and some gauze and medical tape for when the blood slows.

“I thought Tony was kind of every heroes’ benefactor, at least in New York,” Peter shrugs, holding the towel to Hawkeye’s forehead for him.

“To an extent,” Daredevil says. “I mean, he’s not out there making billion-dollar suits for everyone, is he?”

Peter gives an exasperated look that he knows the blind man understands through the mask, “You get other things, Matt. Like a client who pays _ very _ well.” He turns down to Hawkeye, “Like top of the line, experimental bow and arrows.”

Hawkeye grimaces, “We have to actually _ work _ for those things.”

Peter is immediately offended, but he doesn’t let his anger tumble from his lips. Matt and Clint have a point, Tony favors Spider-Man, he always has. All Peter has to do is talk to Tony and he gets whatever he wants. Clint has to complete missions for Shield, and Matt has to do whatever legal mumbo jumbo Tony requires of him. Both of those are bound to be not only lengthy things, but arduous as well.

“You may have a point,” Peter admits, all be it, begrudgingly.

“Damn right I do, kid,” Hawkeyes says haughtily.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’!” Peter kicks his side gently from his position on the floor, but Hawkeye hisses in pain anyway. Peter shrugs and adds in a teasing tone, “My Sugar Daddy treat me like a queen.”

“_ Oh god _,” Daredevil shutters, the depth of his discomfort evident in his using his lord’s name in vain. “Did you just call Tony Stark your sugar daddy?”

“Watch it, I’m fragile right now, Web-Head!” A frowning Hawkeye grits out, poignantly dismissing Peter’s comment for the sake of his sanity.

So naturally, Peter has to push it.

“I only call him Daddy when he asks _ reeeeally _ nicely,” Peter wiggles his eyebrows under his mask, making both Matt and Clint go pale before he bursts out laughing. “You guys are too easy! He’s my mentor nothing else, you sickos.”

Clint groans and wipes at his face, “You can’t do this to me, man, I’m bleeding out here.”

“Shh, shh,” Peter coos, “You get your rest, you little fragile thing, you.”

Clint makes a disgusted noise.

“Don’t worry,” Matt joins in, “You’re _ our _ delicate flower,” Matt smirks as he sets down Clint’s wrapped ankle and checks under Clint’s shirt for his very bruised ribs. Peter’d be surprised if a few weren’t at least fractured.

Peter peeks on the gash to find most of the blood to have slowed. “How’d you get all fucked up anyway?” If anything, it should have been Daredevil who was all banged up, because he fought close quarters while Hawkeye relied on range, but Peter knows how clumsy Clint is, the guy nearly breaks bones going to the store for milk.

Hawkeye groaned as Peter pulled away the towel and screwed his eyes firmly shut as Peter dabbed at the blood to clear the skin, so the tape would stick properly when he laid the bandage.

“Deadpool,” Matt answered for Clint.

Peter’s hands froze, his heart beating a double time as he resisted the urge to glance around for the merc, “Deadpool kicked his ass?”

Hawkeye opened his eyes just enough to glare up at Peter, “How dare you.”

Peter smiled under his mask, but Daredevil sounded disapproving as he clarified, “No, the three of us were on a mission for Shield-“

“Shit hit the fan-“ Clint interrupted.

“Deadpool tackled Hawkeye off a roof-“

“Saved my life-“

“Before a bomb detonated right under Hawkeye’s perch.”

“Wasn’t even Deadpool’s explosives-“

“He was very helpful,” Daredevil lowered Clint’s shirt and reached for another ace bandage to wrap Clint’s ribs when Peter was done with his forehead. “Hawkeye was banged up from the fall.”

“Banged up beats dead every time!” Clint smiles before it falters, “Deadpool wasn’t so lucky… broke his neck on the fall. We had to drag his limp ass halfway across the city.”

There was a lot to unpack there.

Deadpool, Daredevil, and Hawkeye were on a mission for Shield, a likely secret mission that Peter wasn’t going to get any more info on, but since Hawkeye had nearly been blown up, he’s willing to bet it had to do with that warehouse fire a few hours ago.

Also, not only was Deadpool ‘helpful’ on the mission according to Matt, but _ Clint _ had sounded regretful that DP had been killed, even if it was known the merc could come back from literal death. So, he must have been really grateful to the man.

And lastly, Deadpool had been killed.

In Peter’s city.

When Peter wasn’t there to at least try to stop it.

Finishing up the with the tape, Peter gives into his urges and glances around the roof not seeing the merc’s prone form anywhere. But really, Peter would’ve seen the man if he had been there when he swooped down to the roof.

“He’s down stairs getting dinner,” Daredevil offhandedly explains, helping haul Hawkeye up into a sitting position.

Clint’s face turns paler at the elevation change, “Whoa, give me a minute.” He asks as he holds tight to Matt’s shoulder for support.

“You poor thing,” Peter teases, making Clint frown. “Poor, poor thing.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Clint complains.

“So delicate,” Matt joins in.

“You too?!” Clint makes a wounded noise.

“So flimsy, you tiny human,” Peter says patting his shoulder.

This goes on for several minutes, Clint’s pout becoming increasingly more intense.

Just as Daredevil is finally finishing up the bandages, Peter catches the sound of heavy boots clanging up a ladder at the back alley to the restaurant they are gathered on, and he wishes he wasn’t so damn excited to hear it.

But his last meeting with Deadpool had been interesting, so he couldn’t really help it.

The huge man jumps over the edge of the building with two large bags of Chinese food, and he spots Peter kneeling next to Hawkeye instantly, “Spider-Baby!” Deadpool chirps happily.

“Gramps!” Peter chirps back as he stands to greet the huge man, who doesn’t look any worse for wear after apparently being dead a while ago.

“What are you doing here, you little rascal?” Deadpool skips over tossing bags to the floor carelessly as he picks Peter bodily off the floor as he envelopes Peter in a stifling hug that is one hundred percent unearned, uncalled for, personal space invading, and totally the best thing that has happened to Peter is a very long time.

Deadpool’s arms are strong, warm, and hard against Peter’s back and waist and Deadpool hooks his chin over Peter’s head to bury Peter’s face in his neck so he can’t see anything but the dark shelter of Deadpool’s suit collar.

In that darkness, Peter becomes hyperaware of his other senses. Of the feel of his tight suit up the length of his legs, of the scratch of Deadpool’s sword straps against his chest, of the heat radiating off the merc into Peter’s skin. He can hear Deadpool’s steady heartbeat under his ear, the slow gusts of his own breath, and Deadpool mumbling something unintelligible, probably not even English. He can smell his own sweet-scented shampoo and dried sweat from swinging through the city. He can smell the earthy musk of Deadpool against the sharp lingering tang of gunpower, gun oil, explosives, and blood that always lingers around him. He can taste Deadpool through their suits and it isn’t at all unpleasant.

And let’s be honest here, if anyone else were faced with this situation, they’d fight for their life to escape. Peter should be doing the same thing, even with all of Deadpool’s muscles, Peter is without a doubt stronger than the huge man. But Peter is a every tactile person, but no one’s touch has ever made Peter’s whole body melt, yet that is exactly what happens to Peter in Deadpool’s arms.

He doesn’t even hug back, just lets the warmth and affection swarm him into a confused daze, his heart rate dropping like a stone.

“Peter?” Karen asks concernedly in his ear.

“’M fine,” Peter grumbles as his fingers curl into Deadpool’s suited sides.

“Yes, you are,” Deadpool purrs quietly directly in Peter’s ear. And dear holy mother who aren’t in heaven, Peter’s mouth salivates at the wonderfully rich texture of Deadpool’s voice.

As suddenly as it all began, Deadpool pulls away, and Peter has to stifle an unhappy noise when he is placed on the roof as Deadpool moves over to bags of Chinese food he dropped.

“Oh,” Deadpool giggles like a school girl, “I am such a cluts, look at this mess!”

Deadpool continues talking under his breath, but Peter’s knees feel weak, and he can’t concentrate so he sits down right where he was standing and lets his head fall into his hands. His whole body feels strange. Strange in an unnamable way.

“Karen, vitals,” Peter asks softly.

He can barely hear Karen as she answers, “Your heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing pattern have slowed significantly. Your body has released a cocktail of natural chemicals into your blood stream-“

Peter feels strong hands on his face, holding tight to his cheeks to force him to look up. “Spider-Man,” Daredevil’s voice sounds distant and warbled. “Spider-Man, can you hear me?”

Blinking sluggishly, Peter tries to steady his thoughts, but they buckle under him. His mouth feels glued shut.

Deadpool kneels down beside Matt and he isn’t wearing a mask.

It startles Peter straight out of his fog with a regretfully unmanly squeak.

Without the hood, Deadpool’s scared face is on full display, all the scars raised and red and pink and sore looking. But they look like art stretched over the strong cheekbones and chiseled jaw. They complement the beautiful eyes and perfectly white, little smile. Deadpool doesn’t have any hair on his head or eyebrows but he has perfect fans of long, brown eyelashes.

Deadpool doesn’t look offended nor surprised by Peter’s little noise, but he squints his crystal blue orbs down on Peter’s hunched frame, “You got a new suit?” he asks out of left field.

Even though he feels like he just ran a marathon, and his body is so, so, so very tired all of a sudden, Peter bursts into a fit of snorting giggles.

He slaps Daredevil’s hands away as he tries to flop to his side, but Deadpool hauls him up instead. “You got to let me see it, Baby-boy!” Deadpool enthuses, matching Peter’s sudden, but less dizzy, delight.

There is little doubt that Deadpool doesn’t realize how messed up Peter was a second ago. Peter doesn’t even know.

“DP,” Peter snorts and doesn’t fight being dragged to his unsteady feet.

“Wade,” Daredevil sounds uncertain, “I don’t think that’s best-“

“Whoa!” Deadpool exclaims as Peter’s knees give out and he would have been on his ass right now, if Wade hadn’t snatched him against his chest.

So less okay than he thought them, hmm?

Still giggling, Peter buries his face into Deadpool’s leather clad shoulder, but Deadpool isn’t laughing, instead he is uncomfortably still, and that sucks the mirth from Peter.

His giggles die, and he leans his head back to look at Deadpool, who is staring straight faced and uncertain, “You okay, Webs?”

Pushing himself away from the merc and to his own feet, Peter takes a moment to take stalk of himself. The dizziness has lessened, and his heart beat feels stronger. “I’m fine,” Peter nods firmly, adding more confidence into his voice than he felt.

Peter chances a glance at Matt who is hovering a few feet away, and Clint, who looks absolutely bewildered from is spot on the floor. And now that Peter thinks about it, he’s not so sure either of them have ever even heard him laugh genuinely, let alone delve into hysterics. They probably think he’s gone insane.

“Well, fuck,” Peter chuckles rubbing his neck, “You guys don’t have to get so serious. I’m fine.”

Karen pipes up, “Peter-“

“Not now, Karen,” he begs even as he stalks away from the other Superheroes to the edge of the building for privacy.

“There is a fleeing criminal two blocks away, the police have lost visual, but I am tracking him with security footage,” she says quickly.

Peter turns to Daredevil who must’ve heard her, but Matt is kneeling next to Hawkeye arguing with him near silently. Deadpool is eating an eggroll, trying to not look like he was staring at Peter’s ass.

“I gotta go,” Peter tells the group of men.

“We-“ Daredevil tries to start but Hawkeye punches him in the shoulder and starts signing at the blind man in ASL (a language Peter only knows because he was hard of hearing since birth). The two of them must have been working together for long enough that Matt’s picked up on some of the language -two years off and on _ is _ a long time- because he starts signing back.

“OOO, I know ASL too!” Deadpool cheers before he realizes that Hawkeye and Daredevil are arguing about letting Spider-Man go after how strangely he was acting; Matt wanting Peter to stay, Clint saying Peter is capable of making that decision on his own.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Deadpool is on Clint’s side, as is Peter.

The next few minutes are filled with silent arguing as all four men sign angrily.

This is one of those moments that keep Peter up at night.

It’s just the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened. Four Superpowered men in skin tight costumes, one who’s blind, one who’s rather injured and prone on the floor, one who’s scared from head to toe, and one who is barely old enough to be a legal adult and has occasionally sticky hands and feet -great for climbing buildings!- are all arguing in ASL when all four of them are much more fluent and more than capable of speaking out loud and being understood, but they are all too caught up in themselves to realize it.

Peter is the first to break. (He really does feel back to his old self now.) He bursts out laughing, and Deadpool then Clint are quick to follow.

Matt barely manages to keep his frown but it’s a near thing. “Just get out of here before I change my mind,” Matt sighs and waves Peter away.

“Don’t worry, Spider-Baby,” Deadpool smirks, “I’ll keep Feathers and Red-Batman company while you’re gone.”

“Feathers?!” Hawkeye sounds incredulous. Daredevil sounds just dumbfounded, “_ Red- _Batman?”

“Don’t have too much fun,” Peter smirks.

“Oh Spidey,” Wade coos, “You know I can’t have a good time without you.”

“Good _ lord _,” Hawkeye groans, “Are you flirting right in front of us?!”

Peter flips off Hawkeye, waves to Daredevil, and smiles at DP fondly, “See you around, DP,” and shoots off a web before stepping off the edge of the building.

“DO A FLIP!” Deadpool calls after him, and Peter obliges at the end of his swing, smiling brighter at the girlish scream that echoes behind him as he follows Karen’s directions to the escaped criminal.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a long one, seventeen pages of my life.
> 
> And for the record, I don't know how fire alarms work, but we can pretend. XOXO

_ You met me too late, _

_ you missed the good parts, _

_ and now all you have is what’s left of me. _

_ You’ll never see my innocence _

_ or the way I used to smile. _

_ You’ll never see all the people… _

_ Why were you so late? _

_ You missed out on the best of me. _

~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  


Ned cheers as Peter lands his on board at the foot of the stairs, joining in his shouting despite the pain in his elbow from where he ate it on his last attempt at the same trick. He’s wiping away the sweat from his forehead from doing tricks off the railing and stairs at an abandoned building down the street from Ned and his house as he kicks up his board and Ned nearly tackled him to the dirty sidewalk, “That was so sick!” Ned enthusizes , before he gasps, “We should have you change into the suit and do it again!”

Peter can’t help but laugh. It’s almost shocking Ned hasn’t come to that conclusion before. He pushes Ned away and starts toward his water bottle in his backpack. “Someone might recognize my board.”

Ned pouts and follows, but his mind is already moving ahead, “We should get you a new one. Something just for Spidey. But it would have to be sturdy if you use it to patrol… and light weight so you could carry it- maybe we could add attachments for storage- or make it hover like-”

Peter hated to bust into Ned’s mechanical engineer brain space but, “You mean you want to make me a hoverboard like The Green Goblin’s.”

“It’d put you two on equal footing. Maybe this time you could actually catch him.”

“Hey!” Peter squealed as his shoulders went to his ears.

“I just mean it could help,” Ned asserts, before his voice goes earnest, “Maybe you’d get hurt less when that maniac comes around.”

Peter frowned and took a swig of water, “I get it man, but the hoverboard isn’t very spider shtick.”

Ned smirked as he hopped up the stairs, “But it would be coooool~” 

Doing a few circuits down and up the stairs, Ned tries to perfect his kickflip as Peter drinks his water, trying to erase the appeal of riding his skateboard on patrol.

“Hey!” a voice catches Peter’s attention, but instead of it belonging to some middle aged man pissed off by the youth of today, it was Harry cruising up on a board Peter hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Dude,” Ned nods as Harry skates up to their particular set of stairs, “What are you doing here?” 

“I found the time to come and visit on the board, your mom said you were already down here,” Harry smiles brightly, “I usually hang out with MJ right now, but now I’m here.”

Peter sets down his bottle of water next to his board, “Where’s she?” he asks with a smile.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know, we broke up last night.”

Peter makes out half a laugh before he realizes Harry’s serious. 

Peter’s mouth goes dry.

“You’re kidding,” Ned laughs jovily, not seeing what Peter sees in Harry’s eyes as they bore into him.

“I’m not.” 

Just like that. Not tears or pauses. 

It’s almost cold.

Peter can't think straight.

“You broke up!” Ned shouts, mirroring Peter’s distraught confusion. “How?-I knew it was weird a few days ago, but what happened?”

Harry finally drops his eyes to his hands guilty.

Peter chokes out, “But you’ve been together since we were kids.” 

“Let’s just skate, guys,” and Harry is climbing the stairs with his board, leaving Peter and Ned at the bottom until Ned chases after him, then it is just Peter.

Confused and shocked, he pulls out his phone, sending a text, “MJ?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, shouldering his bag, flipping up his board, and he starts walking away without a word to his friends. 

Harry… why? Why would he break up with her? They're like the opitome of power couple.

MJ texts back within a minute, ‘_ Not a real good time, Tiger.’ _

“Harr just told me. I’m not my way,” Peter texts then he’s skating down to her house.

When he gets there, her dad’s work truck is in the driveway, and Mr. Watson is the person who answers the door when he knocks.

The blond man frowns under his thick mustache, blocking the door with his body, “You going to be a problem?” he asks accusingly, like Peter was the one who just broke his daughter’s heart.

Luckily, a flurry of blond hair ducks under the man’s arm, “It’s okay, Mr.Watson,” Gwen smiles and grabs Peter’s hand, pulling him into the house, “MJ said it was okay.”

Peter watches Mr.Watson scowl turn threatening, before he’s being closed in MJ’s room.

He turns to the room, finding MJ curled in a burrito of blankets with her head on Michelle Jones’ thigh. He didn’t even know they knew each other. Peter only knew her from work.

“Yo,” the dark haired girl says sardonically. 

MJ looks over with a wobbling lower lip and Peter drops his shit to crawl into her bed and she can cries into his shirt. 

He cradles her head against his shoulder as Michelle rubs her back. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers as his heart breaks, tears of his own seeping from the corner of his eyes. 

He always thought of them as a couple. They’ve been in love with each other since they were kids. Peter almost didn’t know them as anything else. 

It felt like the world was slipping sideways… and Harry hadn’t even seemed fazed by it. 

It was bizarre.

“Ugh, don’t apologize to me,” MJ complains, “It looks terrible on you.”

Peter huffed into her hair and held her tighter, “Guuurl, I look great in everything,” he whispers like a secret and sees her smile faintly as she looks up at him, a spark of that fierce girl that Peter knows and loves.

“Peter,” she snorts, and lays her head back on his tears stained shoulder, “I swear I hate you.” but she’s smiling.

Gwen blinks at Peter from the corner of the bed, like Peter just split the sea or something.

“Can we watch Sleeping Beauty again?” Michelle asks before Peter can ask Gwen why she was looking at him like that and Gwen turns to the laptop on the side table and pulls it into the bed with them and clicks the play button, starting somewhere in the middle (Peter’s never actually seen this movie before). He doesn’t really pay attention. 

His heart hurts. 

Something is wrong with the world and he can’t fix it. He can distract MJ’s pain, not cure it. He can see the end of an era but can’t settle his mind into it. 

He wishes the world would just take a break.

MJ eventually starts crying again and Peter, Gwen, and Michelle all take turns at patting her back and soothing her tears until she falls asleep, but it’s a long few hours to get there..

In the end, Peter turns to Michelle who looks as tired and worn out as he feels. Gwen is sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring softly. Michelle leaned against the side of the bed on the floor, next to Peter.

“She’s been crying like that since last night,” Michelle whispers, “She deserves better, he broke up with her over a text.”

“A text?” Peter rubs his temple, “I can’t- this is so messed up.”

“Mhm,” Michelle agarees. 

They sit together in silence for a few minutes. But Peter can’t help himself, “I didn’t know you were friends with MJ.” Peter asks.

“Her and Gwen are pretty close,” she says, which Peter knew already, but didn’t see how that added up to MJ and the girl from his work knowing each other, “Gwen’s my girlfriend.” she added.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence creeps in again and Peter looks down at his phone, seeing a bunch of missed texts from Harry and Ned, and the time.

“Shit, it’s late,” Peter says standing slowly, his knees creaking from staying in one postion for so long, “I should get going,” he tells Michelle before leaning down to whisper a goodbye to MJ -“I’ll be by tomorrow, promise.”- and kiss her cheek, 

Then he’s picking up his stuff and shuffling out her room then her front door without protest.

  
  


Ned is home by the time Peter pushes through the door. He is on the couch with a box of Chow Mein stuffing his face with chopsticks when Peter walks in. Glancing from the late night Sci-fi show on the tv to his phone’s clock, he asks around a mouthful of food, “You’re home early?” As if Peter’s never been home early in his life -he has, he swears! Ned must have thought he was paroling.

Peter props his skateboard by the door before walking over to sit beside Ned on the couch, letting himself flop down dramatically and releases a long sigh. God, he’s so tired.

Ned takes another huge bite of noodles, trying a serious tone around his food, “Talk to me, young one.”

Peter just sighs again, before leaning over to the coffee table to peek into the open containers. Ned always orders too much food when he gets Chinese, his eyes too big for his stomach, not that Mr. and Mrs. Leeds can’t afford it, they’re divorced, but both doctors.

Peter picks up the broccoli beef box and a pair of chopsticks he has to snap apart.

He leans back, “I’m a mess, Ned. I thought someone was supposed to teach me to _ Adult._ I don’t know how to _ Adult_. How am I supposed to handle Harry and MJ being broken up?”

“Welcome to life. I ain’t exactly the best at Adulting either,” he chuckles a bit and turns to the tv, watching for a few minutes as they ate. During the commercial break, he gently prods Peter’s side with chopsticks, “I can’t believe you just left me there with Harry. What we’re supposed to talk about?”

Peter scrunches his nose, “I don’t know, whatever you talk about when I’m not around.”

“Yikes,” he mumbled setting down his noodles. “You mean homework and tests? We don’t have anything in common but you, and if we talk about you I might let your secret slip.”

“Mhmm,” Peter hummed over his food, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I just…” he swallowed, “He- I- MJ- He was so cold about it. It really freaked me out. So I went to go see MJ and she was a wreck too.”

Ned shrugs and picks up his noodles again, “You went to be the hero, you’re good at that.”

Peter smiles faintly at his friend before they turn back to the tv continue to watching Sci-fi until the next show starts. Peter finished off the broccoli beef before dipping into the Chow Mein in Ned’s hands.

“You bottomless pit,” he complains with a laugh.

“Hey,” Peter complains, “I’m a growing boy.”

“Well, get your growing ass away from my noodles,” he holds them an arm’s length away as Peter makes a wounded noise.

“My ass is perfect, Ned. How dare you!?” he laughs, but still reaches for the noodles.

He slaps at his hands, “No, get your own you scavenger! These are mine.”

Peter giggles and relents, “Fine, keep your stinkin’ noodles, I didn’t want them anyway.” He fake pouts as he fishes out a fortune cookie from the bag on the table, making his way toward the stairs and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he calls, “I’m gonna try to get some sleep. G’night.”

“Nighty-night,” Ned replies, watching him bounce up the stairs before turning back to his show.

  
  
  


Sleep didn’t go as planned and now, running on the rooftops, Peter looks for a suitable place to park his ass for a quick break. It had been business as usual most of the night, breaking up fights, stopping drug deals, walking group of women home as they made passes at him, and talking to the kid who kept making illegal graffiti art that while unlawful, made you want to sit and look at it. 

He’d tried to be stern, but it all kinda failed when he couldn’t bring himself to web the kid up or call the cops. Maybe the tenth time is the charm as far as setting someone straight went, it sometimes felt like it. The kid hadn’t hurt anyone, and every piece of art Miles painted had been breathtaking, even more so when he’d stop to explain how it attached to his life.

Peter was still thinking about the sprays of red and gold when he spotted Deadpool and Daredevil canoodling on a rooftop just outside his patrol route. He jumped his way over.

Daredevil heard him first, turning to Peter with weariness, “Look, I know we’re on your terf, but Shield couldn’t exactly call you in for it-“

“Baby boy!” Deadpool swooped over with excitement, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and chauffeuring him over to a _ huge _ duffle bag of guns. He picks up the biggest and shiniest handgun and plants it in Peter’s hand before he can even speak.

“Gramps…” Peter blinks in complete shock. Did someone just put a gun in Spider-Man’s hand? 

DID someone just put a GUN in SPIDER-MAN’S hand?

Did SOMEONE just.. 

What a weird day.

Looking up at Deadpool, Peter’s bewilderment grows tenfold. The huge man has taken a handful of steps back and looks like all his wet dreams have come true at once. He elbows Daredevil in the side as he swoons, “Isn’t that the hottest thing you’ve ever seen? It looks so big in his hands!-“

“_ That’s what she said _,” Peter squeaks mindlessly. Why is his voice so high? Why is there a gun in his hand?

Daredevil, the saint that his is, comes over and snatches the gun from Peter -Oh thank God. He sets it back into the bag and turns on Deadpool when he starts to complain, but Peter cuts him off before he can start.

“Dude, why would you give me a gun? Why- SPIDER-MAN- I’m not- NO GUNS! I help them not kill them!-“ Daredevil sets a hand on Peter’s shoulder and he shuts his mouth, feeling stupid as Deadpool looks at him with disappointment.

The man limps over and throws his arms around his shoulders, “But Spiiiiiiiidey!”

Peter wraps a supportive arm around the man’s waist as DP lets his knees go limp. “I don’t use guns, Pooly,” Peter says more firmly and less panicked.

Sighing, Deadpool pouts, letting Peter hold up all of his weight with his head on the thinner man’s shoulder. “You were so close to perfection, Baby boy.”

Peter purses his lips and drops Deadpool, who lands with and ‘Oof.’

He kicks over the lug and plants a foot on Deadpool’s chest. He shakes his finger at Deadpool, “Bitch, they got my picture next to perfect in the dictionary. If you disagree?” he shrugged standing up, but pressing his toes just a tad bit harder into DP’s sternum, “Well, you cash me outside, how bout da?”

Wade smiled like a maniac, nodding with a giggle, but Daredevil groaned.

His work done, Peter turned on Matt, walking away from his prisoner, “And I’m in on this mission, deal me in.”

“Spidey-“ Matt tried.

“Nah-uh, my part of town, my business. Either fill me in on the details or pack your shit and leave.”

Clint rolled up into the roof, “Oh, shut up and tell him. We could use his help, pair him with that menace.”

“Yaaay!,” Deadpool cheers as he crawls back over to his duffle bag and starts adding more weapons to his already impressive usual collection. Clipping grenades of some kind just above his belt of pouches before looking over his shoulder to Peter, “Don’t worry Spidey, I got your back!” then pulled a grenade launcher on a strap on his shoulder. “Papa’s got a brand new bag, and he ain’t afraid to use it!”

Sliding in through a window with a two hundred pound man clung to his back is a lot more difficult than one spider slash man would have thought.

Sure, Deadpool tried his best not to wiggle around too much and had resentfully taken off most of his more ostentatious weapons (“They all have rubber bullets, though!” “But they’re smoke granades- but-but-but- Awwwwww~!”) after some heavy convincing (“Not the swords, Webs! They go where I go- to hell and back.”) but, there was still a huge man weighing Peter down and throwing off his center of balance. Not to mention Wade snickered with the voices in his head in between small bursts of mumbled French or something.

In the end, Peter had them through a secluded window in the back of a seemingly abandoned apartment block that had been well and truly gutted, then filled to the brim with suspicious looking wooden crates that had a slow tingle of Spidey sense creeping up Peter’s spine.

And no, it was not a good kind of tingle.

Peter elbowed Deadpool off his back and walked over to the huge stack of crates that took up most of a room, the designation of which was hard to decipher since all the walls but exterior facing and supportive had been smashed down, even the piping and wiring were ripped out. 

The crates themselves were huge. Bigger on one side than Peter could span his arms.

“We got any idea _ what’s in the box? _” Peter whispered to into the Shield regulated coms channel.

“I have a feeling we’d rather not know,” Clint admitted from his perch a few blocks over, close enough to run over if needed, but far enough for a decent bird’s eye view.

Matt, coming in from the opposite side of the building, grunt affirmation.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to where Deadpool had pulled out his sword and was using it to jimmy open a crate. Peter cringed at the use of something Deadpool had seemed to cherish-

The wood creaked alarmingly into the quiet all around them, “Pool-“

“It’s an intel collection and clearing mission Baby boy, I’m collecting intel.” The wood split and Deadpool pulled it away. “Fuck.”

Peter hurried over and looked in. “Shit,” Peter confirmed.

“What is it?” Clint asked worriedly.

Peter turned away from the crate looking the the thick layer of dust for any sign of people disturbing the crates. There were signs of at least one individual having tramped through. Some of the footsteps, small enough to be a child’s, others looking like toddlers.

The place looked like it doubled as a poor kids’ playground.

This was so bad.

If he strained his ears Peter could hear that the less damaged apartments had people living in them, even if there was no power or running water. Mostly likely squatters.

Jesusfuck.

Wade wrenched open another crate, and Peter didn’t need to look over to know what he’d found. “Dude, there’s Cathuri weaponry in here,” Peter said his voice tight with strain.

“A shit ton of it,” Pool confirmed.

“I thought Shield had confiscated all of it?” Matt voiced his concern, the sound of a child laughing through the mics alongside.

“They did a shit job,” Wade commented with a surprising amount of dryness.

Peter looked over his shoulder as Wade walked up.

“There’s a whole neighborhood in here,” Matt sighed.

“I told you there were civies!” Wade grumbled following Peter as he checked the hall, spotting an elderly couple in rocking chairs at the end of the dark, dank hall.

“Not a whole neighborhood,” Clint complained.

“Who cares if it’s one or a fifty of them?” Peter interjected. 

“Spidey’s right,” Matt sighed,” Either way we have to get them out of the building. Who knows what kind of exposure they’re getting from that stuff.” Peter knew, and it wasn’t good, “Plus I don’t see a way down to the basement level from here without being seen.”

The only elevator that goes down that low is on your side of the building, Daredevil” Clint sighed with resignation.

“So what do we do?” Peter asked. “Pull the fire alarm?”

He was met with a moment of only staticy silence over the line. He thought he’d asked something stupid until he looked over at Wade who seemed to have a thoughtful expression under the mask. “That could work,” Wade shrugged, “Fire alarms usually work on a separate system than regular power.”

“But then we have to deal with the fire department,” Clint said, some clicking noises prescending Natasha’s, AKA Black Widow’s, voice cut into the call.

“I was sleeping,” she said in a flat tone that did not relay the same sentiment, “What’s a girl got to do to get a full night’s sleep in this city?”

“Is that Black Widow!” Wade squealed, grabbing Peter from behind, shaking with excitement. “Talk about the scariest avenger!”

“Natty, buddy ol’ pal of mine, love of my life,” Clint brown nosed, ignoring Wade, “I have a teeeensy tiny little favor to ask.” 

Peter tried to wiggle out of Wade’s arms around his waist.

“Why do I get the feeling this is going to suck,” Widow grumbled.

Throwing back an elbow, Peter knocked himself loose from Wade as the ex-merc flopped to the floor.

“What? You love firemen?”

“Mmm,” Wade hummed in agreement from the dusty ground as Peter shook his head at him in disappointment and indignation, “Love me a man in a uniform too, girl. _ Mmm _, let me tell you.”

Natasha ignored Wade too, “What about the firemen, Birdbrain?”

“We might need you to keep them off our scent for a bit.”

She sighed like he was asking the world of her, and then there was movement over the line, “We dealing with an actual fire or just setting off the alarm?” She was quicker on the uptake than Peter was prepared for, but then again this was her full time job and Clint and her had a near telepathic friendship.

“No flames but we are going to need all the time we can get after the alarm.”

“You owe me,” she grumbled, “Give it five minutes if you can wait, then go ahead.” Her line went dead with a click.

Wade made a dreamy noise. “Isn't she perfect?”

“And here I thought you had a thing for Spider-Man,” Matt huffed with dry amusement.

“I love all the Spiders,” Wade smiles shooting Peter an exaggerated wink from under his mask.

“Mhm,” Peter hummed reaching down and yanking Wade up from the floor, happy his mask covers his furious blush, “Keep it in your pants big guy.”

Wade made a purring noise and skittered a hand up Peter’s arm, “You would like that wouldn’t you.”

“I think we all would,” Clint jumped in and Peter couldn’t help but laugh, Wade pouting and leaning his chin on Peter’s shoulder dejectedly.

Peter is still holding Wade’s wrist and rubs his thumb across the back of Wade’s gloved hand before letting go, smiling softly through the mask. 

“Okay,” Matt perks up through the coms, “I think we’ve stalled enough. I got one an alarm to pull right here, just give me a sec.” There was a short pause followed a high pitched whine of alarms.

  
  


Peter wrenched open an elevator shaft. “No, don’t help. I got it,” Peter sassed. “Not like it’s a two man job or anything.”

“Okey-doke,” Wade chirped, leaning casually behind him against the wall, where he’s supposed to be keeping an eye out for anyone walking passed, but is just staring directly at Peter’s ass and mumbling nonsense to the boxes in Italian? Or was it Spanish? Peter couldn’t tell.

With an unhappy sound, the metal doors pushed all the way open. For safety reasons they’re only supposed to open halfway in an emergency, but Peter was Spider-Man and there was little he couldn’t muscle through. It wasn’t even that hard he’d just wanted to complain about something.

He peered down and then up to find the elevator carriage and saw it still at the top of the shaft, for whatever reason.

“I ain’t seeing anyone suspicious out here,” Clint said before adding, “Well, think I saw a drug deal go down, but I don’t think that’s our biggest concern, at the moment.”

The police had shown up a few minutes ago and were keeping a perimeter to keep the occupants out since the fire department was still a no show, thanks to Natasha’s magic or something.

Peter looked down the shaft, noting there were more floors in the basement than the blueprints had mentioned, meaning there had to be some shady shit in that direction, as Shield had hypothesized, “What do you think your chances are there’s people down there with guns, as opposed to them having taken an alternate route to escape when the alarm went off?”

“Do the guys with guys ever run?” Matt asked as he rounded a corner after having checked that the building was fully evacuated. 

“I mean, we can hope?” Peter shrugged, throwing a web to the floor and dropped down into dark shaft, feet catching him silently at the first basement floor.

The web in his hand shivered and he looked up to see Matt using the web to slide down beside him, his hand catching on the line before he could knock Peter loose. Peter was just about to make a comment about Matt being able to find his own way down when the line shook again and Wade slid in on the other side of Peter, his hand just above Matt’s.

“What’s the hold up? Open sesame, Legs.” Wade had the nerve to look impatient, even as he shamelessly cuddled into Peter’s side.

Peter frowned at him and dropped his hold on the web and used his sticky appendages to hold him up as he wrenched the doors open to an antechamber cleanroom to a lab. The room on the other side was well lit in a way the rest of the building hadn’t been, but was empty. Though he hadn’t heard anyone before he tried the doors.

He crawled into the landing, his senses quiet.

Matt and Wade joined him.

“Anyone else get the heebie-jeebies in labs?” Wade asked strained. “Fickin’ hate labs.”

“Let’s stick together, clear each floor before moving down,” Matt pretty much ordered before taking point, kicking in, and shattering, the glass door to the lab, squares of glass scattering all around him as he withdrew his billy clubs, Wade withdrawing the swords. 

Peter felt kind of insignificant with nothing in his hands, kicking the glass as he passed it petulantly, even if he strained his ears for signs of trouble in the adjacent rooms. He checked all the microscopes as he passed, though. There wasn’t a single slide to accompany them and no sign of the technicians who should be manning them. The lab was suspiciously clean. No papers on the desks, no files in the drawers. They were a little disappointed when all the adjacent rooms were closets, or a garbage shoot to an incinerator, the last door hiding a stairway downward to the lab below.

“Down the rabbit hole?” Wade asked with a smile in his voice.

“You just wanted to say ‘hole’,” Peter joked, surprised to see Matt smile when Wade laughed.

“You two are the worst,” Clint grumbled over the comms.

  
  
  
  


The second floor was a mess. No one was there but loose papers and smashed hard drives were scattered everywhere. 

This floor had more square footage than the last. More long hallways and more smaller, more contained or discrete, labs. There was even a cramped, outdated and musty employee kitchen.

They found the guards on the last and final floor, all traces of them hidden until Matt had thrown open the door at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Shit!” Matt yells, he and Peter ducking for cover as the guards open fire. Deadpool vaults over the haphazard barricade of lab tables and chairs toward the on coming bullets and all hell breaks loose.

Peter ends up ducking down a hall to help funnel his gun wielding enemies, using lab equipment and office supplies as projectiles to distract them as he knocks them out and webs them up, or disarms _ then _ knocks them out and webs them up. 

He’s far enough away from the others that he feels rather uncomfortable, but he doesn’t run straight back toward them when he’s restrained the last of these guards down the hall, because he hears pained yelling coming from heavily reenforced door to a lab.

“Guys, I hear someone screaming,” Peter says as he fixes his sticky hands to the handless door, bracing his foot on the door frame, “I’m going in.”

“We’ll follow as soon as we can,” Matt says through the static of gunshots and his own panting. Wade is silent enough it’s clear his comm is either turned off or broken.

The metal door screeches to high heaven as Peter tears it open, his shoulders actually protesting the force required, the foot he’d used to brace himself, denting the frame considerably. 

As the door gives up, the vocal agony of metal is replaced with a symphony of screaming, some sort of alarm, and an ungodly noise like angry pterodactyls shrieking. 

Peter’s spidey sense is going off even as he steps in.

Yet, the room is nearly empty. The only movement coming from behind a wall of glass containing a howling woman whose voice is less human than anything Peter’s ever heard. Just barely audible over the sound Peter realizes isn’t an alarm but some sort of targeted, high frequency noise that has the woman convulsing on the floor in obvious pain. Black tears rolling from the corner of her eyes, and some sort of thick, black goo oozing and crawling out of her nose and mouth in little tendrils.Moving in a way that resolutely looked liked Mr. Stark’s ‘Project Goo’.

“Fuck,” Peter rushed to the the computer adjacent to the glass containment, and thank fuck it was already booted. He started clicking through the files looking from some sort of shut off for the noise hurting the woman inside.

Peter clicked off his comm and directed his voice at Karen, “Little help here?”

“Peter!” Karen said strickenly “This appears to be the same sort of creature that Mister Stark was keeping you away from in his lab. You should leave not assist its escape.”

Peter almost agreed, but then he locked eyes with the woman.

She looked terrified and in pain.

And he’d already had a glance at most of the surface level stuff in these computer files, even before they introduced the girl into the enclosure, the scientists have been torturing the creature inside. Electrocution, freezing, burning. They wanted to know what hurt it, what killed it. And they didn’t care if it showed signs of intelligence, if it cried, if it hurt.

He couldn’t just run away.

He couldn’t.

He had to do something.

He turned back to the computer and luckily his next click found him the application to shut off the siren and he did so, pulling away from the computer just as the noise cut short and the woman on the floor stopped writhing.

But that wasn’t a good thing because she had stopped breathing too.

“Fuck!” Peter cried and launched himself at the glass wall with all his strength not even cracking it. He backed up and took running starts until he smashed his way through the glass, little squares of it exploding everywhere.

He rushed to the woman’s side, ignoring the goo as he looked for vital signs, ripping off his glove and checking for a pulse.

“Fuck.” he repeated, then clicked back on his mic, “Clint, we have a civilian in here.” he nearly chocked, “She’s not breathing.”

“Daredevil and Deadpool have a few stranglers on their end, but I’ll send down parametics ASAP, kid,” Clint said, way too calmly for Peter’s liking.

Before he could say something sarcastic, he clicked off his mic.

In the back of his mind he knew from the get go that this was a waste of time, the goo was parasitic, coresive even. The moment the goo touched her, she was a goner.

As if on cue, a tendril of the good snapped out to touch his bare hand and horrible voice pressed into his head.

“_ Heeelp meeee _,” it hissed.

Telepathy. The fucking thing had telepathy.

Peter jumping away with an undignified squeak, swiping at the goo that stuck to his suit as panic ricochet in his chest. “Gross-gross-gross. So gross.”

“_ I can not survive in your atmosphere without a host. Please help me _ ,” the _ thing _ hissed.

“You’re a parasite!” Peter objected. “An alien parasite. A deadly coresive-”

“_ You have a healing factor, _ ” it hissed, “ _ I need help. It is your duty to help. _”

Peter growled and whimpered at the same time.

His eyes landed on the woman’s body.

Black tears and pale skin. 

Messy blond hair.

She looked like she would have been nice. Sweet face and nursing scrubs. 

He hadn’t protected her. Hadn’t gotten there in time, but he could protect this- this_ thing _. He could save something. 

He could. 

He just had to not let himself think of the consequences. He was good as that.

Without a further word, the rest of the creature lunged from the corpse with rope like tendrils and Peter wanted to scream at the body like warmth against his skin through the suit as_ it _ coiled up his arm and toward his face, a voice snarling and hissing in the back of his head, “All you have to say is _ yessss _.”

There was a myriad of things in his head screaming for him to refuse, but he knew. Deep down he knew he couldn’t leave his creature to die or be tortured. 

It was alive!

Had thoughts and feelings, and Peter is much more open hearted than he had any goddamn right to be.

Peter hardly felt the word leave his mouth before the thing was under his mask, crawling down his throat, making him gag. He tried to gasp but choked, he tried to cry but he collapsed to his knees, his eyes clamped too tight for anything to pass.

For one horrible second, his mind jumped to his mother and father, like a dream most of the time, he couldn’t help but think of them.

A faded mirage of brown eyes and brown mustache against sun tanned cheeks. He remembers sitting on his father’s lap as the man typed at a computer and played at a piano.

His mother’s face he remembers clearer, pale freckled cheeks framed by waves of thick black hair that Peter had loved to touch. One of his earliest memories was the tickle of his mother’s hair against his fingers and the melody of her sweet laughter. He remembers the thickness of her glasses she hardly ever wore, but stuck in his mind like it were glued down.

He remembers them dropping him off at Aunt May’s and Uncle Ben’s with a suitcase full of clothes and promising him they would be home in a month. He cried and cried, but they had a work trip that they had to go to.

Goodbyes are hard. Maybe they’re supposed to be. To encourage you home sooner or something, but maybe the worst goodbyes are the ones you don’t know are your last. Peter wishes he could have told his parents he loved them before they were gone for the final time, but he had just cried into May’s blouse as Ben walked them to the car.

Peter doesn’t really remember the funeral, he doubts he really understood that they were never coming back even if someone had told him that that was the case. Even as Ben and May adopted Peter and started raising him as their own, Peter always found himself at windows for years as a child, maybe waiting for his parents to come up the drive. To take him home.

Aunt May had had dark brown eyes and waterfall of dark hair and a wide smile that always shone the brightest at Peter and Ben. She wasn’t able to have her own children, but she loved her husband, and loved Peter as her own. She had been a great nurse, kind and reassuring, which made her an even better aunt.

Ben had been the first one to introduce Peter to photography. Ben had painted landscapes as a hobby and art had been something Peter and him could do together to help with the grieving process. 

Peter hadn’t touched his camera in… years. 

One of Peter’s favorite, and last, photos had been one of Ben as Peter sat on the porch. The older man was walking up the stoop, sun flares arching off the camera lens making the old man look like he had sun-bright, golden wings.

Wildly, Peter wondered where he would go when he died.

This felt like dying.

It felt like the creature was dropping into his lungs and burning out from there. Boiling into his blood like poison.

  
  
  


As soon as Wade was clear of baddies, he was on his way to Spidey, who he hadn’t set eyes on since they stepped out onto the floor, even if he’d heard Horns talking over his earpeice with the Webbed Menace. 

He followed the trail of webbed men until he found the room with a door nearly ripped off. Webbs was right dab in the middle of it when he jogged up, the little hero’s masked eyes stuck to the dead body of a young, attractive white female. 

She looked a little plain to Wade, even if the black smears down her face were edgey as fuck.

The young hero was shaking as he looked at her though. 

[Those guilty hero types,] White sighed despairingly.

{He’s sensitive,} Yellow defended.

“Hey,” Wade said squatting down to Spidey’s eye level, but the hero was too distracted. “Spider-Man,” Wade said seriously, using the tips of his fingers to tug Spidey’s chin so they were eye to eye. The hero sniffled. {So cute.} Wade agreed, but whispered reassuringly, “By now you have to know, you can’t save everyone.”

Without saying a word, Spidey dropped forward against Wade’s chest. Which was still sore from a few gunshot wounds, making him flinch. Plus, his suit squelched with the amount of his blood soaked in -there was some other guys’ blood too, but we don’t have to mention that.

{Because it’s icky.}

[Because you’re an idiot.]

{How dare you insult me-} 

Spidey felt just as small as ever in Wade’s arms. Even if the man could easily lift Wade as he could break all the bones in Wade’s body with a sneeze. Still, the hero felt… delicate. Even if the description was hard to hold on to with the fresh memories of Webs punching dudes double his size across the room without thinking. 

It was a dichotomy of kinks, but thus is life. 

“You should get going, Legs,” Wade said, if only to keep his libido at bay, “We got it covered. Not much to do for now and you know Shield’s not gonna like we pulled you into this without their permission.”

The hero shifted in Wade’s arms, not quite pulling away, a soft pained noise huffing passed his lips.

“Come on,” Wade says softly, brushing a hand up the hero’s back comfortingly before standing, hauling Spidey up too. “Get home, and get some rest.”

The hero still didn’t say anything as he looked up at Wade, but he took a shaky step toward the door. 

“See you around.” Wade called as the hero took off down the hall toward the elevator shaft.

{Poor thing’s probably going to go cry his eyes out,} Yellow cooed.

Wade made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat before Double Dee walked in with a rush of paramedics who went about checking over the woman in the broken glass cage.

The world blurred into long ribbon of light that flicked and swirled in his vision like snakes. 

He hated it. 

He closed his eyes to it. 

He closed himself off to the noise that threatened him from every side. 

He felt like he was swinging through a city raining down blades. Cutting him open, flaying him for all the world to see.

It almost felt dream as Peter swung through the city.

He felt heavier than ever, but free of gravity at the same time.

In pain, but free of everything else.

Peter felt so…

In an enclosed place, he stood naked in the middle of the unfamiliar tiny, cold, dark bedroom, the spider man’s suit slipping from his fingers. He was still wearing the mask and pulled it away mechanically, his fingers tight and stiff.

The human’s body was fighting his control, so he used his superior telepathic ability to press the other mind farther back.

He stumbled to the bathroom not bothering with the light that would only prove too harsh on his new eyes. Eyes which are inexplicably drawn to his reflection, to dark circles contrasted by unhealthily pale skin, and smears of dark, drying blood from where it’s soaked through the suit. His hair is a sweaty, dark brown. His face looks young and tired.

He doesn’t recognize himself. But Felicia had known that mask, known its name. Spider-man.

“_ Is that you, spider man _ ?” Venom asks curiously with a hissing cadence. He had figured the human spider man was older under the mask. This _ boy _ does not look old enough to call himself a man, he said so out loud, and felt righteous indignation rise up from the mind hidden behind his own.

The spider man had a very strong presence despite Venom’s attempts to corner him, if he kept it up, Venom wouldn’t be able to keep control for much longer. As it was, Venom was already shivering with fatigue and pain.

In a way, the resistance to his control was a good sign. If the spider man’s mind was strong enough to fight, his body with its healing could hold Venom for quite some time. The spider man was already strong, with extraordinary abilities. They suited Venom, he could and would only improve them over time.

Suddenly, he feels a name rise up through the spider man’s consciousness, Venom didn't even have to look for it. Peter?

Venom looks back up into the mirror, bringing up his newly sensitive fingers to this so young face, purring at the tender feeling of the flesh, “_ Is that you Peter? Peter Parker _ ?” He smiles wickedly into the mirror at the flash of fear in his blood. “ _ Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Who do I have to tell?” _

He is surprised to feel the trickle of sympathy, and it snaps away his smile. He almost wants to step back behind Peter’s mind to let the spider man take control of his body, but doing so would surely make them fall to the floor, the bed would be a better place to let them fall.

Pushing away from the bathroom, he moves to the bed and crawls into it, his purr picking up again at the silky sheets and the warm familiar scent wrapped in the fibers.

The familiarity of the scent is definitively from Peter’s mind, not Venom’s but the wash of relief in Peter’s blood is soothing and needed. Venom needs relief, needs comfort.

He’s so far from home.

So far from his brothers.

He should stay awake and try to reach into Peter’s mind to learn all he can about the hero to better acclimate to this new body and its host, but he’s just so tired. And no one knows but he and Peter that he and Peter are now one. They have time to learn about each other.

He has not even closed his eyes before sleep envelopes him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I care for you, you'll be getting two chapters.
> 
> This one is mostly humor so i guess you could skip if you felt so inclined. I wasn't going to add it because it doesn't really say much but i laugh every time i read it. Like i said, I meander.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

_ Everyone else seemed to have everyday people thoughts. They worried about rent, or griped about people they hated, they question the validity of Kix as part of a complete breakfast (news flash: Kix cereal is the Devil’s food). _

_ I worry about the tightness of my suit. _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Tony was not expecting what he found when he walked into his living room.

Clint Barton was there, but that wasn’t the interesting part- well, it was, but it wasn’t.

The fellow avenger was sitting cross legged on top if the chief’s stainless-steel refrigerator, cleaning under his nails with pocket knife as he peered at the absolute disaster area that had been formally known as his kitchen.

It looked like someone had come in and raided every inch of his kitchen, all the pots and pans, plates and bowls, and utensils were no longer in the cupboards but strewn every which way in the absolute mountain of garbage that seemed to be the empty wrappings of every trace of food in the whole kitchen.

As Tony took a step forward, not daring to enter the mess but skirting it, he noticed even the condiment jars were empty on the floor.

Did… did someone eat entire jar of Dejon honey mustard?

He really didn’t know what to think of… all this. Was it a prank?

Tony was kind of speechless, he could only frown.

“I know right,” Barton chuckled.

“Did- did you do this?” Tony blinked, taking his first step into the actual kitchen, almost tripping over an empty bottle of olive oil. What the f-

“You think _ I _ did this?” Barton laughed out loud.

“Well who the hell did?!” Tony snapped.

Just then, the biggest pile of garbage on the counter stirred, and Tony will never admit to effeminate squeak that accompanied his wild flailing that accompanied his near fall as his foot got caught when he tried to take a step back. Even if Clint was there to see and hear it pure as day and laughed his ass off at Tony’s expense.

“Dear lord,” Tony frowned as he moved his glare from Barton to the squirming pile. There better not be vermin in this fucking tower. If there was, Tony knew it was Wade Fucking Wilson’s doing.

“Not even close,” Barton said casually as he expertly hopped off the fridge, not touching one bit of the debris. “I’ll give you a clue, he wears red and black and isn’t your son.”

“...My….?” Tony’s eyes bulged, and he hurried over to the pile of garbage dug through it until he found the black, white, and red figure snoring softly at the bottom of the pile with what Tony hoped with all his hope was some tomato-based sauce smeared all over his suit, even as his nose knew that it wasn’t.

“JARVIS!”

The messy pile of hero shot up into a sitting position, “I’M UP!” Deadpool yelled and made a move to wipe at his eyes but met the reflective surfaces of his lowered mask.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony seethed, “What the hell are you doing? How did you even get in here?!”

  
  
  
  


Wade blinked awake in a second. 

Last night had been a doozy. He was still riding the adrenaline high of being Totally Awesome and getting to work with Spider-Man on a job, when all the blood loss really got to him. It didn’t help that on his way to find food to help restore his metabolism that news got back to Iron Dad about Wade and the rest of the Handicappable Trio (AKA The Blind, The Deaf, And the Severely Schizophrenic) letting his little Spidey-kins join the Sheild gig. Apparently there had been some kind of alien in the building that no one had told Wade about, and that had not been recovered.

Wade_ could _ have handled the tongue lashing better. _ Could _ have decided not to retaliate, but in his post injury, pre starving to death due to superpowers daze, Wade had not been using all his big boy thoughts and had focused on revenge. 

At the time it had seem justified. Webs is a big boy, wearing his grown up spandex and everything. Who does that pompas, metal phallic symbol think he is?

Looking up at the furious avenger, he thinks he might have miscalculated.

{Think fast!}

[Run. Run while you have a chance.]

Wade jumped down off the counter, “I hate to dine and dash, but-“ he tried to speed walk to the balcony, but Tony caught him by the bicep.

“Wade!”

He deflated. “Look, Toners-” 

“Toners?” Tony went red.

Clint busted up laughing.

“_ Tony _,” Wade corrected himself, “Look, I’m not myself when I’m hungry-”

“God damn it, Wade. This is my house!”

“No, it’s not! This is where every super in the city comes when they're in need. When they’re too afraid to go anywhere else, they all roam here. That’s why you’re throwing that Welcome to the Neighborhood thing in a few weeks. All of the avengers have a trainee on their beck and call. You have Spidey. Spangles and his pet Angry Boi have me. And Hawkguy over there has a very morally questionable crush on Blindy.”

“How is it morally questionable? We’re both adults and partners-”

“My point is that I’m sorry!” Wade shouts, frazzled. “I got off track there, but I’m sorry. I know I don’t always think things through-”

[Stuff like this is why they wouldn’t let you be a X-Men.]

{And why they left you in space.}

[You know, the more you bring it up, the more I question if it ever happened at all.]

{Wait, can the X-Men go to space in this headcanon?}

“For the love of god, I’m getting better. Thinking things through more. Trying to be less annoying. Please don’t kick me off the trainee program or whatever.”

{Or leave us in space. Don’t forget the space.}

“Or leave me in space,” Wade adds to shut Yellow up.

Tony takes a moment to look indignant before his face dropped in exhaustion, “Get out of here before I change my mind,” he mumbled into a palm.

“Yaaah! Dad’s letting me be a Superhero!” Wade cheers, clicking his heels before running to the elevator Jarvis brought up while they were talking. He jumped in and Jarvis gratefully slid the doors closed. “Thanks Blinky!” Wade smiled. Jarvis didn’t respond more than open his door at the ground floor. But he was silently amused by Wade, Wade could tell. “Smell you later.” Then the hero was on the streets in his half destroyed suit.

“Soooooo,” Barton said after a while of kicking through the garbage like it were fallen leaves at the beginning of autumn, “Was he actin’ weird or was it just me?”

Tony huffs a sardonic laugh and flops onto his couch, turning his back to the mess. “Isn’t he always like this?”

“He wasn’t even this outrageous when Spider-Man was around,” Barton says almost casually, but turns thoughtful “Or maybe he was, and I didn’t notice because he aims it at Spidey.”

“Oh_ god _,” Tony groaned, “You had to witness their flirting too?”

Barton laughed, and Tony was a little shocked at how light hearted it was. “I don’t even think they realize how far gone they are for each other,” he chuckles.

Tony shakes his head, “I didn’t even know the kid swung that way until I walked in on him just watching Wilson flexing right in front of him.”

Barton laughed again, his eyes overflowing with mirth, “OH-Oh, I am soooo teasing him about this later.”

“Spider-man or Deadpool?”

“BOTH!” Barton laughed.

“God, you don’t think Spider-Man had anything to do with this outburst do you?’

Clint shrugged, “The kid seemed fine last we saw him. Helped out on a mission just fine, left with only a few scratches.”

Tony grumbled under his breath.

“He was _ fine _,” Barton stressed, “Wade made sure he left before Sheild got there. Wade said he was fine, so he was.”

Tony sighed and rubbed at his temples. “I need to talk to Cap.” He rushed from the room, leaving Barton alone in his living room, but he comes back, “You’ll watch out for the kid out there right?” he asks with huge eyes, and Clint smiles as he nods just the once before Tony is rushing down the hall, “I’ll hold you to that, Barton!”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware the goo.

_ Sometimes you feel like a mountain. So tall and strong and powerful. So of the world you could never be moved from it. _

_ I feel so small in the shadow of you. I’ve seen you topple many a man and I know too well how to be toppled. _

_ You are height in all its glory. _

_ You are heaven in the clouds. _

_ You are the gods of Olympus calling down the yarns of this creature called man. _

_ And sometimes I can taste you on my mouth like I’ve kissed you. _

_ I can feel you in bones, drawn and laced into the flesh of me. Where my fingers end, yours come to touch. Where my breath comes to play, your mouth comes to inhale. _

_ Where I am, so are you. _

_ We are the same. But men in robes made of strangeness, in masks of truth and lies and loneliness, in knowledge that where you go, I shall go as well. Where I fall, you follow. _

_ Dear sweet man we are not redemption, yet we are doomed to fall in love. _

_ I fear I love you already. I fear I know what your love is like, textured on my tongue, wound in my heart, weeping from my eyes. Overfilled with the river of it. _

_Where we head, there are too many maybes, too many uncertainties. I fear that if you are not a god than they will surely strike you down. For men are not allowed to have the things that make them immortal. They are not allowed the things that make them last from life to death and back again. Those that make men gods._

  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Peter wakes up with his stomach tied in knots, fear and pain screaming for dominance in his sleep idled brain.

Stumbling out into the hall then to the bathroom in a pair of boxers, he’s disoriented and dizzy. The whole world spun a hundred miles an hour. 

He slammed into the sink, his head almost colliding with the water tap. His thin fingers gripped the counter almost to the point of cracking tiles.

The fluorescent light stung his sensitive pupils, but he turned up to the mirror anyway, terrified to see the sallowness of his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, the lifelessness of his usually fluffy hair. He looked almost as near dead as he felt. Peter’s spider sense flared all around him. His body sensing danger from every direction, not realizing the danger was already inside him. His voice shook as he stared at the mummy in the mirror. “What’s wrong with me?” 

The answer came up from within.

“_ I am Venom _,” the voice answered in a horrible hiss. 

It was enough to knock out Peter’s breath like a punch.

He ducked over to the toilet just fast enough to puke his guts out without making a mess.

“Jesus ficking Christ on a stick,” he gasped when he could catch his breath.

“Peter,” Karen’s voice sounded in Peter’s ear, terrified and thankful at once. “Peter is that you?”

His brain felt so slow. “I-I don’t understand.”

“You haven’t been yourself,” she says, her voice far away and echoey in his ears.

He… he doesn’t remember getting home. Or getting undressed. Or taking a shower. He should still be covered in blood.

He turned up to his pale reflection, not seeing any sign of blood. He rose a hand to his hair and found it damp.

Venom… took a shower while Peter was unconscious?

“_ I did, _” was all the symbiote said, and Peter’s senses flared as his knees nearly buckled.

Peter choked on his fear, gagging over the toilet as the door creaked open, vaguely remembering how he'd let Venom in last night.

Someone should have reminded him not to feel troubled and patrol. 

But then he was remembering how sad MJ was and he instantly felt regretful. He didn't have time for that right now- He gags.

“Peter?” Mrs. Leeds; voice cut into the bathroom. Then she was stepping in, “Honey,” she cooed, “You look terrible.” She flushed the toilet and brushed back the hair from his forehead to press the back of her hand to it, “Jeez, you’re burning up, I’m going to call you in sick today. Go lay down and I’ll get you some water.”

Peter didn’t even argue, he just ignored the hissing monster in the back of his mind and limped back to bed, kicking his suit under the bed and out of sight before crawling under the covers, finding his wristbands on the bed side table and slipping them on.

“Your fever is very high,” Kare says calmly a moment later.

He made an unhappy noise.

“_ Your body is not fighting off illness, _ ” Venom whispered, and Peter’s stomach roiled again, “ _ It is not fighting me back just helping me heal my injuries. It should pass within a few days.” _

Peter moaned unhappily just as Mrs. Leeds walked in, Ned stumbling out of his room just as she set the water glass on the side table, “I still have to go to work, but I can call off if you want me too.”

“No,” Peter said instantly. He couldn’t endanger her with Venom anymore than could be helped. “It’s fine. It’s the flu. I’ve had those before.”

She brushed the hair from his forehead again with a sad hum, “You can call me if it gets to be too much, drink lots of water okay?” Mrs. Leeds was too good a person.

“Dude, are you sick?” Ned asked incredulously from the doorway.

Peter groaned and rolled away, hiding his aching head under his blanket.

“Go get ready for school,” Mrs. Leeds chastises her son, closing the door softly behind her.

She comes back to check on Peter again before she leaves for work, forcing him to finish off the glass of water before she refills it and then it’s just Peter -the mutant spider boy-, Karen -the highly intelligent AI-, and Venom -the paristidic alien currently living in Peter’s body and/or room. It’s like the start of a really bad joke.

  
  
  


Seething, Peter ripped the rapist off the sobbing woman, and his fist connected with resounding clarity, a sharp “Crack!” to the piece of shit’s face before the dull thud of his body hitting the pavement. But even the small comfort of the man’s limp body didn’t quell the anger ripping Peter apart from the inside

If Peter had been better off, he would have been trying to help the woman up, help her call the cops, made sure she got help. But his whole body was stiff and tense, though his head lulled back until he was staring up at the night sky as he stood over the rapist like a lion over its prey. Like a spider over a catch.

“Sp-Sp-Spider-Man?” the woman sobbed, but Peter couldn’t look at her.

He didn’t move an inch, barely whispering out a strained, “_ Run _. Run now.”

She sobbed for just another minute before he heard her hobbling away in obvious pain, but he- he- couldn’t think straight, let alone be the kind of gentle she needed.

When he was sure she was gone he turned down to the unconscious man and he lowered himself until he was nearly straddling the man’s chest.

But they anger coursing through him wasn’t his own.

“_ He deserves to die, _” Venom hissed in fury, a righteous anger. One Peter understood, but being a hero means being emotionally restrained. Sure Peter was upset, that woman would be hurt for a long time, however long it took for wounds like that to heal, but a hero didn’t let that anger over take their own being. You had to feel just enough to get the job done, or else you became a revenging angel with a line of bodies in your wake and a weak moral code.

“_ Like Deadpool _,” Venom whispered temptingly.

All Peter could do was sputter for a moment then, “Maybe he was, but he’s changing. Taking the Avenger code to heart. We don’t get to decide who lives and dies. Deadpool’s learning it and so should you.”

Venom’s attention was still on the rapist, however. “_ I kill this beast. I do it for her. For everyone he will hurt in the future. _” Venom urged, his voice hissing and feral.

Peter sighed, rolling his shoulders in the vain hope at easing the tension there, “I know how you feel. The need to protect them, but we aren’t executioners. There’s a whole law system to deal with people like him-”

Venom roared in Peter’s head.

Peter hasn’t gone out as Spider-Man for nearly a week. His fever fluctuating in intensity until it broke at last, Mrs. Leeds at her wits end and a fraction of a second away from dunking Peter in an ice bath.

But Peter’s learned a lot about Venom over his bed rest, seen flashes of the goo’s memories and he’d been surprised as the creature’s ability to be reasoned with. And it had been very accommodating in terms of possessing his movements, agreeing to hand over most, if not all control and agreeing not to _ eat people _, which was a strange conversation he hadn’t thought he’d ever have to have until it came up, but it seemed necessary. 

In exchange, for the weekend, Peter gives Venom free rein to do whatever he wants.

Peter hadn’t expected the symbiote to like yoga, but it seemed to pick it up easy after watching a few youtube videos and it was an interesting way for Venom to get used to Peter’s flexibility, strength, and posture. To test Peter’s limits but in a slow methodical way.

Venom also likes being nude, which made Peter feel like such a prude, and he’d never felt like one before. But Venom liked the feel of a breeze on _ all _ of Peter’ _ s _ skin, which is apparently more sensitive than anyone Venom’s ever come into contact with- which makes sense, most of Peter’s spider sense is from the vibrations in the air that the fine hairs all over his body can detect.

Pete has always been the kind of person who liked to touch things, to hold them. He’d never understood the point that people looked with just their eyes.

But then Peter got sticky fingers, sticky fingers that were so much more tactile and sensitive than they’d ever been and then he had to touch things. At first, to reacquaint himself with things, to 'see’ things unlike he had before, but then it was just a habit.

His new senses made touching an experience all its own.

Peter liked textures, liked warmth or temperature.

Venom? He loved those things. He loved heat to an extent, and he loved texture. He loved to touch, to be touched.

He _ purred _ with satisfaction at it. Like literally. Purred. Audibly.

Peter can feel the creature rolling like a wave against Peter’s sternum and making Peter feel like some sort of human/cat/spider hybrid. A beast that even humanity, with all its folly, would have used a nuke to wipe off the face of the planet.

Peter had guessed the next logical step to helping Venom acclimate to Peter’s body was to take him on patrol. Which is a load of BS, because it’s really was just that Peter couldn’t stand the thought of being locked in his room for one more second. 

His whole body itches with the urge to just fucking RUN.

As expected, Venom had taken his time pulling on Peter’s suit. But it’s almost hypnotizing how slow he’d gone. The cashmere-soft lining of the suit slipping across his arms, wrapping up his legs, caressing his neck. Feather light and breathtakingly careful.

No one puts on clothes like this. No one. But Venom likes to feel good in a way people take for granted. Venom thinks he’s a cat in a pillow universe.

But the symbiote wasn’t feeling cuddly right now.

For the first time since Peter let Venom into his body, he feels the symbiote slither back out through his limbs, like a thick sludge. It doesn’t hurt exactly… just like his spider-sense it just feels like something… _ else. _ An inhuman feeling, a feeling of something more.

The symbiote stretches his will out over Peter’s, taking away Peter’s ability to wield his limbs on his own, or at all, from the inside. 

Hands, that no longer answer to Peter, grab the rapist still unconscious on the ground. “Alive,” Venom hisses, “I eat alive.”

It almost sounds like he’s asking permission.

“No!” Peter shouts in his head and the alien freezes. “No. We’re better than this. Killing him for what he did is worse than letting him live. Killing means _ We _ are just as bad as them, maybe worse because we’re stronger and faster than them.”

Venom hissed unhappily, but Peter feels the anger fade as the symbiote crawls back under Peter’s will. “_ We are better than them, _” he relents with almost a pout.

Peter backs away from the still unconscious man and webs him to the floor just as a cop car siren catches his ear. 

“The police are on their way,” Peter says as he flings a web up to the building above and launches himself up. He stands guard until they round the corner to the alley then Peter’s on the move again.

“Should I turn on the NYC police scanner, Peter?” Karen asks after a few minutes, and Peter takes the time to consider it.

“No, I lets just see what we come across,” Peter answers.

Venom is unperturbed either way, he’s testing out the world, just trying to find his place in it, and Peter honestly just needed to stretch his legs. They’ll deal with something if they cross it though.

Venom climbs up to the tops of buildings, they’re in Queens so there isn’t anything _ too _ high for Peter’s comfort, especially because Venom is intuitive enough to judge Peter’s strength and agility with how hard he can push, Peter only having to take control when Venom starts using the web shooters. The alien isn’t familiar enough with human architecture to judge what can hold Peter’s weight on a web and what won’t.

It took a while for Peter to figure that out, even with Karen giving ‘helpful’ suggestions.

Surprisingly, the going is rather fast. Venom taking the route Karen has gently laid out in the lenses faster than Peter would’ve, but Peter’s usually keeping an eye, and ear, out for trouble. However, it goes to show how comfortable Venom has gotten under Peter’s skin that he can show as much dexterity as Peter can, though it’s more a group project than a solo act. Peter guides and leads his body even as Venom does the same. It’s strange, to feel someone else’s will on his muscles, to feel him working alongside that will.

Peter spots someone jimmying open a window and points Venom over. Karen confirms his rapt sheet from a facial scan, and they snap a few pictures through the suit’s lenses before webbing the guy to the wooden siding and sending the photos and address to the police. Venom is disgruntled when there isn’t much of an altercation.

But he does punch out a mugger with a single swing, which makes the symbiote laugh and Peter uneasy. Then the three of them have another long conversation about controlling their strength. About holding back. 

Peter’s job is to help people not put them in the hospital. Venom goes sour for the idea of patrol after that and Peter lets him loose for the night. Letting him choose the route so everyone can think about the talk and let it sink in. But from what Peter can see, there are quite a few heros out tonight, and Venom only seems mildly interested in them as he passes through their patrol routes, watching Iron Fist and his girlfriend, Colleen Cho, who Peter has actually only met once, from afar before moving on.

Venom runs Peter to exhaustion and by the time he hands the reins back over to Peter, he has to take a break. Which is useful because the switch from Venom to Peter leaves Peter’s knees weak. You’d think it’d be easier, but whatever. They’re still learning about each other.

Peter ducks into the corner of a roof, where he can sit and lean back against the foot high, cinder block railing. He even takes off his gloves so Venom can enjoy the breeze between Peter’s sweaty fingers.

The creature lets out a loud purr for half a second, making Peter giggle.

He leans his head back and looks up to the dark sky, just unwinding as Venom finishes relaxing back behind Peter’s will. It almost feels like Venom is loose water in Peter’s mind, under his skin. Brushing like liquid through and over him, until he presses for control and then it feels like concrete, feels stronger than Peter’s extraordinary muscles, more steady than the turn of the Earth. Like no matter what Peter does, he’s never ever going to blink when he wants to.

But Peter can also feel the brush of Venom in his thoughts. The telepathic creature shifting through little spots of Peter’s memories as he recalls them. He wishes he could hear what Venom thinks about all the things he doesn’t mention, even though Peter knows he spends long hours pondering them, because every now and again he’ll ask a question about them. Like why Peter couldn’t remember the feeling of his mother’s hands on his cheek though he remembers other things about it, the scent of her perfume, the softness of her smile. Like why things go rosey when he thinks about running. Why Peter cares so much about Karen when she doesn’t ever touch him.

He releases a sigh, brushing his fingers against the tender spot on his own wrist.

Venom had taken a liking to touching Peter’s spinnerets, chuckling when Peter turned red and embarrassed. “_ Silly boy, _” Venom whispered behind Peter’s ear when he turned red now.

There was a light scuffle of boots on roofing that has Peter’s head turning. He’s surprised to see Deadpool jumping down to one roof top from a higher one, only a slight scuff of his boots when he rolls to let you know he was there. He’s so silent, Peter’s surprised he heard him at all.

The ex-merc catches Peter’s eye and he can see the man smile under his mask as he waves dramatically over his head, “Yooohoooo~” Deadpool sings then starts making his way toward him, giving up on whatever he’d been doing.

Peter waves back tiredly, just plain and simple too exhausted to make a fuss about how his heart flips with excitement in his chest. Venom perks up with interest. The succubus.

The huge man plops down with a respectable distance between them, “Where you been Spidey? You have Feathers all worried about you.”

Peter smirks self-depreciatedly and scoots down slightly, “He should have stopped by the tower, Stark checked up on me too.” Peter’d made some excuse about heavy responsibilities in his everyday life to cover that he was just getting used to Venom when Stark had called through Peter’s earpiece. It made him feel terrible that Tony had seemed worried even still, but he hadn’t pressed and said it was probably good for him to take a breather once and awhile.

Deadpool shrugged languidly, “Paranoid partially deaf guys, amiright?” Leaning down on his elbows to prop up his chin as he looks gently at Peter. “He’s probably heard about you gallivanting around by now. Did you _ have _ to swing all over the city, or have you just been cooped up?”

Laughing tiredly Peter lays his head back onto the wall. “Guess I needed to stretch my legs,” Peter uncurled them as if on cue, stretching them out in front of him.

He can see Deadpool eyeing him appreciatively and a bush burns over his cheek, making Venom cackle in his head.

“Shut up,” Peter grumbles and bites his lip, turning away from Deadpool’s leer, self-consciously tucking a knee to his chest.

The ex-merc chuckles and mutters something unintelligible to his voices, but he reaches out and grabs Peter’s out stretched foot with both hands.

The bottom of Peter’s boots are thin, thin enough that Peter can still stick to things through them when he needs to, so he can feel Wade’s thumbs easily as he digs into the meat of Peter’s foot when he is still too confused to pull away.

Peter practically melts to the floor, “Ohgod,” he mumbles.

“New item to add to the list of Spider-Man’s weaknesses: foot rubs,” Karen snarks. “Almost as potent as Peppermint.”

Peter would have snorted if DP hadn’t turned off his brain, Venom going nuts at the pain/pleasure of someone rubbing out the sore spots of Peter’s heel.

Wade grabs Peter’s other foot and drags it to his lap, switching to rubbing that foot.

Peter feels his eyelids flutter open, and then he’s watching Pool’s shoulders, watching the tilt of the man’s head, watching his biceps flex and unflex.

Maybe it should feel weirder. 

Peter shouldn’t feel comfortable enough to let someone he barely knows rub his feet, but maybe if you just don’t think too hard, it’s okay.

Either way, for whatever reason, he trusts Deadpool. Put aside the horrific backstory, the questionable mental health -which Peter can’t really go shaking fingers at since he has an advanced AI _ and an alien symbiote _ talking in his ear 24/7, he’s halfway to crazy on his own- and suddenly all Peter can see is someone very attractive, hilarious to high heaven, and who _ gets _ Peter.

Someone who can understand Peter’s need for Spider-Man, who understands the hardships and validation of being a hero brings.

Time stops having any hold on Peter for a while. The hero drifting in and out of awareness, as Deadpool rubs his sore feet.

He turns back to Deadpool when he starts saying stuff Peter can make out, “Not exactly the attractive to admit that, Yellow….” He grumbles, but he’s no longer rubbing Peter’s feet, just tracing his fingers over the slight webbed pattern up Peter’s shins.

There’s a quiet all around them.

The night sky dark and still. The city moving but distantly.

If Peter lets himself feel like it’s true, he might honestly let himself believe they’re all alone.

Even Deadpool seems quiet, having pocketed his gloves to feel the suit’s weds with his bare fingers.

This is one of those times when Peter isn’t sure if he should even breathe into the silence. Maybe just a release of breath could break the mood, could break the feeling of Wade’s fingers through the suit, of the heat of Wade’s lap on the heels of his feet, of the press of the night as it tingles down his arms and kisses at his bare fingers.

Peter feels himself rub the pad of his thumb against his palm, imagines what the strange texture of Deadpool’s scars would feel like against his fingers. Wonders if the shift of them hurts when the ex-merc makes a fist. Like the tightness in Peter’s chest when he imagines himself leaning forward and pulling up their masks to kiss Deadpool’s mouth.

A blush blooms across his nose like a rose, soft and easy, and Peter’s heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings.

Well, he can’t do that.

Even Spider-Man isn’t that bold.

Instead, Peter pulls his legs under him, and scoots closer to the ex-merc until he’s close enough to smell the man and reaches out a bare hand to Deadpool’s. He goes slow enough to give DP time enough to pull away or slap his hand with a ruler or something, but Deadpool doesn’t move. Goes stock still, even holds his breath.

Peter’s freaked him out. Fuck.

He freezes too, his eyes finding Deadpool’s eye lenses, waiting for permission or dismissal. Waiting for Wade make the decision.

A breath stutters into DP as the man raises the back of his bare, scarred hand into Peter’s fingers, against his palm. The skin is soft if uneven. Every inch a scar. But it’s not tight or dry. Maybe he moisturizes. The scars shift ever so slightly, as if the scars where trying to heal themselves. It was warm against Peter’s chill-bitten fingers.

Peter’s heart was jumping in his chest.

He smoothed his fingers into the curve of DP’s palm. Turned the man’s hand up so it was facing Peter and the spider placed his palm flat to his, lined their fingers up- Tarzan style- then admired how small and frail his fingers looked pressed to Deadpool’s longer and stronger looking fingers, realizing that Deadpool’s everything looked big compared to Peter.

He was taller, broader, had considerably more muscle definition. He looked like he could break Peter like a toothpick, even if Peter could probably bench press the man, one handed.

Venom seemed to like the idea of that, something like unearned pride rising in the back of his mind.

Some sort of affection swirled in Peter’s chest, and he slipped his fingers in between Deadpool’s, holding his palm tight to his. Deadpool’s fingers closed slowly over the back of Peter’s hand, and when Peter looked up from their clasped hands to the ex-merc, the mask was unreadable.

His face is on fire at this point, and if his heart beat any louder it’d smash through Peter’s ribs. Peter tightens his hold, and he can’t name what he’s feeling when he looks back up at Deadpool. Can’t name the charged feeling between them. Can’t feel anything but the heat radiating off the huge man as Wade swallows hard.

“Anyone tell you your weird?” Deadpool says confusedly, looking at their clasped hands like he doesn’t understand it.

“All the time,” Peter admits.

Wade pulls away, digging into his palm with the thumb of his other hand, “Are you sure you’re not a hallucination or something?”

“You want me to punch you in the stomach or something as proof?” Peter supplies, standing up.

Huffing out a laugh, DP stands as well.

Peter scuffs the toe of his boot against the roof, “Love to stay and chat, DP,” he takes a tentative step toward the edge of the roof, “But I got… ‘sponserbilities… to get back to.” Mainly wallowing in his confusion about this whole thing, paying a visit to Stark and feeding himself, but yeah.

Deadpool smiled like a maniac under his mask at the Rugrats reference, “Who do I have to kill to get me another one of you?” Wade asks in a coo, “Something small, so I could carry you around in my pocket.”

Gasping dramatically, Peter steps right up the edge of the building pulling his gloves from his pocket then slipping them on, “Silly Old Man, there’s only enough space in the universe for one of me. We don’t want to collapse the fabric of reality just for your convenience, now do we?”

Wade pursed his lips and put an unhappy hand on his hip, “Well then I guess I’m just gonna have to find a way to put _ you _ in my pocket then,” Wade rose his eyebrows under the mask, “Huh Legs?”

“Some people might interpret that as a threat,” Peter laughed. “You’ll have to catch me first, DP,” then he let himself fall over the edge of the roof, catching himself last second on a web then throwing himself into the air.

“Don’t think I won’t!” Deadpool called after him.

  
  
  


A sigh of relief tumbles out of Peter’s mouth when he lands on Tony’s balcony. This belly deep thing that shakes loose tension from Peter’s shoulders like nothing else. 

He hadn’t realized he was so tense. 

He pushes into the tower, not really looking where he is going, finding Pepper and Tony barefoot and eating on the floor by the coffee table. It’s obvious he’s interrupted something sorta romantic.

“Hello Spider-Man,” Jarvis greets softly and the happy couple’s heads whip over their shoulders to find Peter before he can retreat.

“I can go-”

“Underoos!” Tony practically launches himself over the couch, pulling Peter out from the cold, and into to bone crushing hug that could have the power to crush lesser beings. “I was worried, kid. You should call more.”

“I’m… not… a… kid,” Peter struggles through his crushing.

“Nonsense,” Pepper says kindly, prying Tony away from Peter as effortlessly as she does everything. Her embrace is much more human friendly, and Venom takes the opportunity to tell Peter he likes her perfume. “We missed you,” she says gently.

“That means you should visit more,” Tony complains.

“I’ve been busy.”

“I can help with that.”

“I can handle it on my own.”

“You don’t have to,” and Tony just sounds too earnest for human ears.

Pepper steps away leading them all to the coffee table, wordlessly making Peter a plate when they are all on the couch.

As she hands it over to Peter, who is sat between the two adults, Tony munches on his food as he flips through his On Demand for a movie, putting on Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs without asking for input. Not that Peter’s complaining.

They make it through half the movie, Pepper’s head on one shoulder and Tony’s on the other, before Peter starts to squirm. “You figure out the Cathuri stuff yet?”

“We’re taking a break from that,” Pepper says when Tony’s expression goes dark.

Tony rakes and hand through his hair, “I’ve almost got it, I swear. It’s just not _ working _-”

“You need sleep like the rest of us, Tony,” Pepper reaches around Peter to pat Tony’s head. “Giving your brain a rest is good for all of us.”

“Can’t have you self destructing,” Peter agrees, making Pepper smile and Tony pout. “I should go home for the night,” he starts detangling from the adults, but not before getting pulled back into a hug from each of them.

“See ya around,” Pepper smiles fondly.

“If you’re gonna be out for a while, CALL!” Tony shouts after Peter as the door closes, Peter sends them a salute and jumps over the edge of the balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you guys wanted some good ole fashion Peter V. Venom but i wanted to try out them actually getting along for a change. Thought it might be interesting. Let me know what you think so far, or let me know what you want to see in the future of this fic or in the fandom in general. IDEK


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter because i love you. <3

_ Normal people _ ** _fascinate_ ** _ me. _

  
  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Wade had to admit, he liked New York. The people were angry or crazy or both. The street were over crowded, the traffic could drive a monk to attempted murder, and all the subway trains had a hobo who muttered to himself. {We fit right in!} Not to mention no one gave you more than a spilt second of their attention if you decked yourself out in swords, knives, and guns as long as you were wearing a costume. They either crossed the street and forgot about you or ignored you completely.

He figured this was as close to heaven as he could get.

But then he’d gone and found his new favorite Mexican place. 

Yelp said it was a no go, and the health standards were lacking, but sometimes you give things up for authenticity. Plus, Wade had an iron stomach. 

Having Spider-Man in the area was also a huge plus. Wade saw something it the little spider he wanted all for himself.

[Jeesh, Spider-Babe wasn’t made for you, you narcissistic asshole.]

{Yeah, for one, he’s too pretty!}

“We don’t know that!” Wade said seriously as the server came over with a huge tray of pre- ‘going to look for Spidey’ tacos.

The rest of the restaurant was pretty deserted right now other than Wade and the kitchen staff, so the server dude frowned under his scraggly mustache until he could make a hasty retreat to the shield of his register and the soccer match on his phone, leaving Wade to start his systematic destruction of taco city, currently sitting unawares on his plate, and to talk to himself like a loon.

{We don’t have to see his face. We already know your is fugly, and it’s a no-brainer the spider has to bash people off with a stick. That’s probably how he learned to fight. Had to learn how to beat back the rapists! His upper-cuts- woo-wee- He’s _ had _ to have had some practice with those. He almost took that guy’s head off last tonight.} Yellow sounded almost like the story was the good kind of nostalgic. {Hawk-guy even had us go out to make sure it was actually Spidey out there and not some super powered weirdo playing pretend while The Bird was on a Shield mission with Blindy.}

“Am I the only one here who thinks it’s weird Spider-Man nearly killed someone after being missing from the street for a week after his inclusion in our little blood bath the other day?”

{We all know you don’t have any qualms against unwarranted violence when you’re in a _ mood _.}

[We don’t know that kid well enough to judge if he is any worse or better than the papers make him out to be. They call him a menace, they think he killed someone when he was first starting out-]

{Our Spidey would never!}

{-Maybe it’s true.] White presses, [Hell, maybe he thinks you’re so pathetic because you couldn’t kill that one rapist guy in front of him. We’re getting off topic here-]

“Not unaliving them in front of the kid, doesn’t make me pathetic. It means I know what’s good for me. Iron-Dildo said to stay away and not to hurt the kid. Evisceration isn’t always pleasant to watch.”

[_ It could have skawed the wittle guy _! Grow a pair you douche. Spider-Man probably sees that stuff all the time! He beats the shit out of guys at night for free. He lives for the violence, he probably enjoys it.]

{I don’t think he’s a kid. I mean that ass can’t be younger than eighteen can it? Eighteen means adult.}

“There is no way we know that he isn’t a kid based off that ass, no matter how perfectly biteable it is,’ Wade argues for the sake of Yellow elaborating.

{Tony wouldn’t let a kid go gallivanting around in his tech. _ He’s a hero _. He’s got some sort of moral code, he has to. So, he ain’t letting some kid out there to get the shit beat out of him unless he’s eighteen, and Spiderman’s been using his new suit for like three years now. Spider-Man is at least 21 by now, right?}

[Huh, so you’ve actually thought this through. I’m genuinely surprised.]

{What can I say? I’m in love.}

Wade sputtered. “What?”

[Same-sies. What?]

{Why are you guys so surprised? I’m not heartless? I can fall in love too. That’s the perk of being a sentient box. I can enjoy sentiment, and I’d let Spider-Man dump his load of sentiment all over my face.}

[Just when I thought I’d figured you out: in it for the tail. But no. It was all a front. I feel so betrayed.]

“Everyone just relax. There’s no way he’s interested-“ {Lies!} “You don’t even know him!!” Wade growled lowly, gesturing with his taco and sending cheese to the floor in a spray.

{I know enough.} Yellow said primly. At least Yellow was on Wade’s side about Webs being hotter than hell and downright dreamy, sarcasm, snorty giggles, media references, and all. Plus, the guy was actually nice. Smiled at Wade too.

{He touched our hand! Our _ bare _ hand!}

[That had to be scientific curiosity right? No one could really like us.]

Not to mention, the kid heard, and responded to, a voice in his head, and if that ain’t already some kind of sign from God, Wade wasn’t sure what was.

However, Wade also knew how terrible of a human he was. Wade was the perfect person to drag someone down with him. He was the perfect person to take something as pure and true as Spider-Man, the NYC’s perfect little masked vigilante, and destroy his faith in the world. Wade destroyed everything he touched. He didn’t want to do that to someone like Spider-Man, even if he couldn’t help himself but want him.

{That’s not fair.} Yellow whined. {We can be better! We’re already trying to be heroes. We’re going the whole ‘Training-Wheel’ thing with Iron-Lung.}

[Dude, it doesn’t matter what we do. We’re poison man. Fucking failures and we know it. We’re never going to get the girl.]

{But-but-but- That boy could slap me in the face and spit in my mouth any day.}

[… _ What _is wrong with you?]

“No,” Wade said seriously, “He’s got a point.”

[I hate you both.]

Wade was on taco three or four when someone came through the front door with a jingle of the bell. Instinctually Wade scooped the newcomer out, but he used the reflections off the widows to not make anyone suspicious.

The guy, whose back was to the widow, had a mess of brown hair that he toppled more by running his fingers through it as he looked up at the menu. He was wearing some comfortably loose, black boho pants that barely staying on his hips, one of the elastic ankles caught half way up his lean calf, and a too big tank top that had armpits that dipped down his sides to his waist, revealing subtly enhanced musculature. His backpack was a cheap drawstring thing and he was wearing a pair of those cloth flip flops.

Something about that picture had Wade turning to the guy.

The brunette had his head down to count the crumbled bills in his hand, and Wade felt his body responding to the guy’s slight build and frankly tantalizing span of skin on his sides and arms.

His thin fingers and long limbs distracting Wade from his food.

It kinda made him feel like a creep, but it wasn’t like Wade’d ever do more than look. Confidence is for chumps, and Wade’s not stupid enough to pull civilians into his life.

Stepping up to the counter, the cashier asks, “The usual?” getting an affirmative grunt in response. The brunette pays with crumbled bills, throwing the change into the tip jar.

Stepping away from the counter with a receipt he crumbled into his pocket, he took out his phone and turned to a table by the door. He hadn’t noticed Wade, but from this angle Wade could make out his face... Which was… younger than Wade had thought from behind, still pretty though. A TKO if Wade had ever seen one.

He sunk down into his seat and went back to his tacos.

{Freckles,} Yellow hummed his appreciation. {I fucking love freckles.}

[Too skinny.]

{We could fatten him up, feed him cake and cookies ‘til he gets Type 2 diabetes.}

[Feed ‘em this dick,] White grumbled under his breath making Wade snort, and Yellow to start cheering.

“Can’t take you two anywhere,” Wade griped wiping his mouth before going back to his taco.

[Seriously though, what is up with you and twinks lately? What happened to big beefy dudes? Or emotionally damaged chicks who could chew you up and spit you out?]

{Maybe we’re tired of being chewed up!} Yellow defended, {Plus you know Spidey is the only twink for us. He’s got buns of steel!}

A little huff of laughter made Wade’s eyes flicker back to the brunette who was staring down at his phone with a lost sort of smile, he was leaned back in his chair, his arm thrown over the back of the chair beside him, almost relaxed except for whatever residual energy had him swirling his fingers against the graffiti carved into the chair by some punk, and had him bouncing his knee under the table.

His free hand came up to his nose as if to push up a pair of glasses, but he wasn’t wearing any and that had him confused for a second before he blushed and turned his eyes up to see if anyone saw and found Wade staring.

Wade had taken off his mask and gloves to eat, so the kid got an eyeful of Wade’s fucked up face.

Most people usually cringed when he made eye contact with them, but New York was the best because the guy just blushed harder, a smile daring to peek out when he turned back down to his phone with unseeing eyes. Wade leaned back into his chair, lifting his chin.

It took a second, but Wade recongized him from a few weeks ago. He looked different without his glasses but the boy couldnt hide the shape of his smile if he wanted to.

{He’s fucking great, lets go sweet talk him!}

[We’re not perverts! What is he, like twelve?]

“I’m eleven so shut the fuck up,” Wade laughed under his breath.

[Vine is _ gone _ Wade,] White growled.

{You are such a party pooper.}

[And you’re a dumbas-]

The brunette’s eyes flicked back up to Wade’s as he took a bite of his taco and gave up on White for the evening.

There’s something tender about the kid’s face. Something soft around his brown eyes. Wade figured it might be innocence. A little bit of if anyway.

The kid’s order number was called, and he tore his eyes away from Wade’s -Jesus Christ on a stick, how long had they been staring straight at each other- to go grab the bag in the counter. He checked his order was correct then walked out the door, pausing only to throw one last blushing glance at Wade before he was gone.

  
  
  
  


Believe it or not, school was not very forgiving when Peter went back the next day. He got the notes from his tree of classmates and Ned, and even did all the homework he’d missed when he wasn’t near death or getting used to Venom, school just needed to teach him a lesson or something (heh, lesson). He had two pop quizzes and was assigned a ten page essay about Blahblahblah- and that was just his morning classes.

At least Venom seemed to find the whole thing fasicanting. Teenagers and their lives were nothing like he’d ever experienced before, apparently. 

The juicy bit where Ned, Peter, Mj, and Gwen all hid in the library all lunch, cracking quiet jokes and avoiding Harry had made Venom smile. He apparently had a huge crush on MJ. He thought she was firey. Which she usually is, but was much more subdued than usual because of the whole break up thing. 

But just because Peter was avoiding dealing with Harry, it didn’t mean he hadn’t run into him. Harry kept showing up to walk Peter to each class and he kept smiling, like everything was okay with the world.

How strange it was that when Ned had sent Peter pictures of baby goats to cheer Peter up that Peter had run into Wade while Peter was out of his suit.

He’d purposely gone to an out of the way Mexican place since he saw Wade at the one closest to his house, and Wade had been there anyway.

And Wade had looked relaxed. His eyes blue and smart and Peter knew he’d gotten lost in them for a bit.

Peter had been so thrown for a loop that he hadn’t noticed when Venom devoured every morsel of food he’d bought and slipped into the suit to start the night early, Peter hadn’t even done his homework yet.

But the night had been kind of a bust.

Sitting on the top of the a few abandoned crates, Peter stopped to catch his breath after a full night of swinging. It had been a quiet night where Peter made the rounds a few times with absolutely nothing to do, so Venom had started getting fancier and fancier with his swinging, adding more and more spins and twists, slowing and speeding up to match the music playing in one of his ears. It was a wonderful workout, not to mention, it made Peter feel too extra to be allowed, which was fun.

There was a scuffling sound on the building across the street, and Peter turned to it, half expecting Deadpool-okay, like, ninety-five percent expecting Deadpool, but the anti-hero _ does _ have a knack for finding Peter, it’s not hopeful thinking —mostly not hopeful thinking.

There is quite a shock waiting for Peter as he catches sight of the black-clad figure struggling up the side of the building across the street from the fire escape. The mask puts Peter on immediate edge, but the masculine form doesn’t seem to be running from anything, so at the very least he isn’t a criminal. The guy is eerily quiet as he walks back over to the edge of the building, seeming to gage the distance between the one he is on and the one across the alley way.

It makes Peter’s breath catch.

God, it reminds him of the first time he tried to jump the gap between buildings when he first got his powers.

Is this a freaking coming of age for some mutant, or -more likely- mutate?

Peter eyes the mask and the blacked-out outfit.

Is this a coming of age for another superhero?

A strange, overwhelming, surge of nostalgia and reverence swamps over Peter. He is nearly lost to it as his senses laser focus on the guy backing away from the edge of the building, jumping on his toes before gathering up his courage to jump the fifteen-foot gap. Then they guy is off, making his way across the building with a definite touch of Super-speed.

The guy makes it perfectly and Peter’s heart is hammering at his ribs. At the sound of the guy’s hauntingly familiar laugh, a tingle of his Spidey sense, races up Peter’s spine, making every one of his hairs struggle to stand on end under his suit.

“Karen,” Peter mumbles, “Who is that?”

“His suit is not distinct enough to be recorded or registered with Shield,” she answers succinctly.

Which was true, it was just a black pair of jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt with a plain, black mask with black, reflective lenses.

Only taking a moment to let his victory sink in, the obviously Super dude turns toward the building next to Peter’s, and across the street from the building he was on, backing up and bouncing on his toes before he’s sprinting again.

Peter is on his feet and at the edge of his own building as the guy launches himself over the edge, but the dip of fear in Peter’s gut is not substantiated as the wind milling, happily screaming figure makes a perfect arch up and over the gap to drop on the building with a haphazard landing that sends him into a tumbling, but unharmed, mess on the building beside Peter.

The laugh-

It’s so familiar-

Still laughing and sprawled out on the roof, the Super pulls of the non-descript mask, his face split with a perfect smile, framed by messy curls, matched with steel gray eyes.

“_ Harry _?” Peter chokes, the name sounding almost like a cough.

The laughing cuts short as Harry mother fucking Osborn turns to catch Peter in full suit, standing gob smacked on the next building over. He scrambles to pull on his mask and get to his feet.

“Did you see that jump!? Jeezus, it was crazy! I can’t believe I- It was- Oh my god!” he stutters with enthusiasm, before his eyes catch up to his brain and then he just yells, “You-You’re Spider-Man! Oh my god, Ned would be losing his shit right now!”

It’s a weird feeling… to not know Harry.

Pete never thought there would be a time where he wouldn’t feel like he knew his best friend. Harry is his brother. They tell each other everythi…

Peter looks down at his gloved fingers, tracing out the spider symbol on his chest.

Oh, God…

Peter’s eyes flick back up to Harry who is sitting on the opposite building, letting his legs dangle over the edge. The building is about a floor shorter than Peter’s, but they can easily talk across the gap. Peter kneels slightly to look less… maybe to just look like less.

Harry seems to consider him a second before taking off his mask. “Guess you already saw me without the mask, yeah?” he asks softly, smoothing it flat against his thigh. “Not gonna rat me out to the news as a mutate are you?” he asks a little deprecatingly, “ ‘Harry Osborn: Mutated Rich-boy’. God, I think my dad would literally kill me.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Peter feels himself choke out to his best friend. He is half expecting Harry to instantly recognize his voice as easily as Peter had recognized his, but Karen turned on his voice modulator without him asking.

He’s had to do some serious work on the modulator to make his voice sound like an actual human’s voice and not some cut-rate Deepthroat, and he’s only a little disparaged that Harry buys the strange voice as real even if Peter had worked so hard to make it easy to do so.

“Yeah?” Harry asks with a little quirk of his lips. “Do you not know who I am, or what?”

Peter feels stuck sideways, not sure if he’s standing or tumbling down some weird rabbit hole, “Little full of yourself, ain’t yeah?”

“It’s so hard to be this pretty,” Harry winks.

Peter’s mental tailspin takes a crash landing when he recognizes Harry’s flirtatious eyes on him.

“Uh,” Peter’s throat goes bone dry and he coughs into his hand.

Harry turns bright red and turns back down to his mask, “If you can’t flirt with a Superhero, who can I flirt with?” he laughs a little uncomfortably, “My friends would be pissed if I didn’t at least try.”

Peter can’t imagine what he is supposed to say to that.

Harry fills the gap with a strained, dry, “I’d thought you’d be taller.”

Why does everyone have to call him short?

For the first time all night, a woman’s high pitch scream cuts through the air and catches Peter’s attention.

He’s standing up and turning to the screaming before he even thinks about it, his acute hearing pinpointing the exact location and is rattling it off to Karen to keep an eye out on the web-accessible cameras in the area as he makes his way to the back of the building just about to shoot off a web when he hears a gasped “Whoa,” from Harry. 

He turns back to his astonished friend and new-mutate brother. “It’s like you went from strong silent type to an actual hero in the blink of an eye- Not that you’re not an actual- you are so- “ he cuts himself of with a face palm.

Peter blinks at him, still at a loss for words.

He’s only seen Harry this out of sorts and awkward a few times.

For one crazy second, Peter feels himself reaching for his own mask.

Harry- Harry needs to know.

If they’re both super-

But Peter doesn’t know what kinds of powers Harry has, doesn’t know if Harry’s knowing will put him in danger. He wants to let his best friend know- but can’t bare to think what that knowing would cost-

Another scream echoes and Peter feels his hand stiffen.

Harry’s eyes are huge and expectant.

Peter’s hand is shaking as he lowers it slowly and deliberately. His voice thin as he just says, “See ya around.” Which is the most honest thing he can think of. Then he shots off a web and makes his way to the mugging in progress.

Deadpool is tackling the knife wielding mugger to the ground when Peter gets within sight of the origin of the woman’s screaming.

Wade gets the knife out of the guys hand in the blink of an eye and is zip tying the guys hands behind his back right as Peter comes to a land a few feet away.

The victims are two middle age women with soccer mom haircuts, they are obviously terrified, huddled behind a dumpster, shaking visibly.

He makes his way over, “You ladies okay? You hurt?”

The less frazzled one shakes her head stiffly, the other still staring wide eyed at where Deadpool is threatening the restrained man with fierce whispers that these women’s hearing can’t pick up, but Peter kind of regrets that he can, because the color and intensity of Wade’s threats are making him blush. Fuck.

Keeping his voice soft and careful, “You call the cops already?”

The slightly calmer one shakes her head again, but at the sight of Spider-Man she seems to be calming down a bit more. “I-I- I got my phone around where somewhere?” she starts patting down her pockets but her eyes fall to the purse on the concrete with all its contents spilled out and pales again as she spots the cracked phone in the mess.

“It’s fine,” Peter says, as he kneels down in front of the woman, at a distance far enough away to not box them in, but cuts off their sight lines to the mugger, his abandoned knife, and the purse.

“I’m calling the police,” Karen informs him.

“What about your friend,” he prompts the woman, “Is she okay? Do either of you have any injuries?”

The woman looks over to her friend and touches her shoulder softly, “Lisa? You okay, hon?” she asks with a thick Brooklyn accent.

The terrified, speechless woman -Lisa, apparently- stares at her friend bug eyed, like she just realized where she was. Her lip quivers just before she is a sobbing mess in her friend’s arms.

The Brooklyn woman, wraps her friend in her arms and comforts her friend easily, stepping into the role of caretaker with efficiency only a mother can have.

Her soccer mom haircut ain’t just for show.

“You going to wait here until the police show?” He asks the woman, “Me and my friend will be just right up there until they arrive, that okay?” He points up to the fire escape above them.

She just nods and shoes him away as he runs her fingers through her friend’s hair and whispers steadying things.

When Peter turns around, Deadpool is still squatting and whispering evil things to the mugger, who, at this point, is whimpering in fear.

Peter walks over grabs Deadpool by the shoulder bicep, “Oh, Spidey,” Wade hisses with uncharacteristic annoyance, “You shouldn’t have.” and hauls the man to his feet and pushes him toward the fire escape before following after him.

Wade seems to be in a shit mood based on his hissing and spitting at the voices in his head as he stomps up the rings of the ladder, and without someone to save, Peter feels off balance again.

Peter can’t help replaying Harry’s jump in his head. And it twists and twists and distorts. Until Peter realizes why he can’t stand the thought of Harry being super.

And it all starts and ends with Peter standing a shattered window, watching a murder fall from the warehouse. 

When you’re going out of your way to stop someone, it can go so wrong. So sideways. All that good can turn into bad. Turn into blood on your skin. Blisters on your fingers, scrapes on your kees, and wounds on your ribs. Someone else’s soul in your hands.

Who is Harry?

Is he going to try to be a Hero? He made a mask. Maybe he is.

Shouldn’t Peter be supportive? He doesn’t feel like he is.

It’s so fucking hypocritical, but he can’t let Harry do this.

Being a hero- Harry has such better options. With his brains and money and position, Harry can change the world a-whole-nother way.

Peter and Deadpool stop on the third floor of the fire escape, well within eyesight of the women and the mugger at the mouth of the alley way.

Wade has a dark cloud over him as he leans down to rest his forearms on the rusted, metal handrail, staring down a hate-fueled hail storm of daggers at the mugger like Wade’s never seen a more despicable human on Earth.

Peter doesn’t know how to approach Deadpool when he looks so pissed, so he just takes a step back to the shadows to lean against brick siding.

There’s something so grounding about the scratch of it on his shoulder blades. Reminds him of home. Reminds him of hot summers. Of learning to skateboard. Of a childhood not so far away even if it feels like he can hardly see it through the darkness and confusion he feels right now.

His Super hearing picks up the sirens off in the distance. It grows closer.

Peter sighs with relief.

Opening his eyes, he starts the climb up the ladder.

Deadpool doesn’t follow until he hears the sirens, but by then Peter is at the top of the building and he’s watching the red and blue lights flashing up onto the buildings they pass.

A breeze swoops down from the sky and Peter rolls up his mask to breathe it in. It’s warm and muggy. It’s going to rain soon.

Wade crawls up over the side of the building and watches silently as Peter rolls his mask back down.

They make eye contact.

Peter feels it ripple up his skin.

He looks away first.

He thinks this the least amount of words they’ve ever spoken to each other since they met. Peter hasn’t spoken a word directly to Wade at all tonight.

Though there isn’t a combination of words that feels right to fill the gap between them. To calm Deadpool’s irritation. To quell Peter’s uneasiness.

This isn’t a fight.

They’re not fighting, but there’s something sparking between them, something dangerous. They’re just tissue paper cutouts of men in a room soaked with gasoline. 

There’s someone is in the corner trying to strike a match.

Red and blue splash bright behind Wade, casting him in shadow.

The police cruiser pulls up to the trio down in the alley and the siren cuts off with an almost startling conciseness.

Red and blue halo-ing a dark figure.

Red and blue and black.

Red and blue and black.

Redandblueandblack.

Redblueblack-

Re-blue-ack

…

Black.

Peter stumbles away from Wade, turning his back to the lights and lets his mind go blank before he passes out.

All too suddenly he realizes he isn’t breathing.

Can’t breathe.

Breathe! Breathe!

WHY CAN’T HE BREATHE?

_ Help Me!! _ he screams up nothing comes out of his mouth.

His lips are still closed.

His lips are sealed-

A powerful hand grabs Peter’s arm and he realizes he was an inch from stumbling over the edge of the back of the building to the small strip of dirt that used to be a planter.

Peter’s head whips back to follow the steel fingered hand back to the masked man it is attached to.

He looks even more furious than before.

Peter tries to jerk away, but then he’s almost over the edge of the building again.

Wade grabs a fistful of the front of Peter’s suit and throws him flat on his back on the roof, not giving Peter a chance to roll away as he leans over Peter and tug up the edge of Peter’s mask.

Panic! PANIC!

An open hand smacks hard across Peter’s half exposed cheek and he sucks in a petrifyingly fresh breath. 

He gasps in greedy breaths, quickly realizing that the sirens hadn’t been turned off at all. 

For whatever stupid reason, they were still blaring, but Peter had just not heard them as his panic attack- anxiety attack?- had crashed into him.

Hot tears rolled from Peter’s eyes and he rolled to his side into a fetal position, drawing himself closer to Deadpool, resting his forehead against Wade’s thigh holster.

“Shh sh-sh-sh,” Deadpool cooed, rubbing at his back, “You’re gonna be alright Spidey. You’re going to be okay.”

Thank God for Wade fucking Wilson.

“Looks like we both had shit nights,” Wade grumbles, mostly to himself.

Peter finally swallows down his panic.

“Yeah, what happened to you?” Peter asked his voice weak and thready.

“Got my dick stuck in my zipper,” Deadpool jokes quickly, dispelling Peters question. “We got to get going soon before the coppers start looking, Webs,” he softly reminds Peter. “You don’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Snorting Peter feels his lips curl despite his earlier break down, his cheek aching softly where Wade had slapped him, “I hate you,” he grumbles.

“I hate you too, Webs,” Wade says with too much affection.

Peter pushes himself up to his knees before standing and offering a hand to Wade, pulling down the mask Wade had only half rolled away from his mouth so he could breath.

Wade takes Peter’s hand and Peter can feel Wade’s pulse jump when Peter uses Super strength to lift the man to his feet.

“You have strange kinks, DP,” Peter says flatly, though he’s slightly amused, comforted even, that after… after everything, Wade is still Wade.

Hopelessly Wade.

Smiling weakly under his mask, “A man likes what he likes Spidey.”

“You want to go get some pizza?” Peter asks hopefully.

“Ohmygodyes,” Wade says with a hand to his stomach, almost looking relieved.

Peter chuckles drily, but starts toward his favorite all-night pizza place via rooftop, so Wade can keep up.

He tries to keep his mind clear, panic swarming in the distance of his thoughts like a storm cloud, but he keeps his eyes forward. Tries to focus on the now, on the staticy press of the air on his suit.

A few blocks from the fast food joint, Peter feels a warm prickle of his Spider sense and he surprises Wade by grabbing him into his arms to fling them from the roof to a web that drops them down to street level and under an awning just as a scattering of rain drops start from overhead.

“Did you just predict the weather, Babyboy?” Wade asks as he pulls off his mask and stuffs it in one of his pouches along with his gloves.

Peter shrugs as Wade watches him with open admiration. 

Who gave Wade the right to look at Peter like that?

The bigger man grabs Peter’s hand kindly and pulls him out into the sprinkle of rain. 

Cool rain soaks through the layer of material protecting Peter from the world. The drops traveling down Wade’s head, and over his cheeks to ripple over the curve of Wade’s small smile, contagious enough to catch Peter in it.

Wades mouth looks soft. wet. Like it would be smooth and soothing against Peter's. Lovely and warm and so tenderly Wade's the world shouldn't allow it.

Peter has to actually try not to stare dropping his gaze to their linked fingers.

“So weatherman is one of your powers too?” Wade asks softly, like a joke but weighed heavy with something soft and strangely private. As if the rain were a curtain shielding them from anyone’s eyes. And maybe, it is. 

Peter doesn’t trust himself, or the weightlessness of his post-anxiety attack ridden brain. He’s more afraid of himself than he should be. More afraid of all the things he didn’t and couldn’t see coming. 

He doesn’t trust that the world is still spinning when his knees feel so weak under him.

He steps forward. His arms limp at his sides as he rests his head against Wade’s shoulder.

Water curls like fingers under Peter’s chin. Only some of it is rain as he sniffles softly.

What even is the world tonight?

One of Wade’s bare hands comes up to grab the back of Peter’s neck, squeezing reassuringly. “ ‘Pool,” Peter chokes helplessly.

“You’re okay, Webs,” he whispers. “You’re fine.”

Their fingers are still tangled. 

Wade slides his hand from the back of Peter’s neck to under his chin, raising his eyes up.

They’re so close Peter’s vision doesn’t even have to be enhanced to be able to see every fleck of blue in Wade’s ocean eyes.

“Come on Babyboy, let’s get some food in you,” he steps backward, Peter stumbling after. 

Wade shifts their hand so their fingers are no longer interlocked, but so most of Peter’s hand is caught against his wide palm.

The rain continues to pelt them as they walk, only letting up as they detor under an awning or two, even if Deadpool steers them toward every wayward puddle to splash in as they walk.

“That’s so gross,” Peter protests weakly, laughing just as weakly at Wade’s offended pout.

“But it’s fun!” Wade argues, and Peter just shakes his head and gives up, joining Wade in splashing into the puddles until they stumble into the restaurant where Wadde orders a literal mountain of pizza, before turning to Peter, “You want it to go? We could head back to my place? Or Yours. Wherever you’ll be comfortable.”

Peter looks over his shoulder to the wall of windows out to the street and would rather not eat in here where everyone can see.

He consents to Wade’s safehouse and once their order is bagged and waterproofed with plastic wrap and bagged again, Wade leads Peter a few blocks over to a run down apartment building, and the first floor apartment that looks like it could use some TLC, the place sparse and lacking in furniture other than the couch and huge tv.

“It’s just my current safehouse, Legs. Don’t look so pitying,” Wade says lightly using one of his hip knives- the knives he keeps on his hip- to slice free his food on the the counter. 

Peter rolls up his mask, nearly has a heart attack when DP, ex-mercenary/ hero-in-training, screams like a girl. “I couldn’t see you clearly before!” he screeches, “You’re so pretty!” He grabs up a slice.

The fawning and yawing over the apparent beauty of Peter’s lower half of his face, has Peter going scarlet. “Shut up, DP. You’ll make the rest of me jealous,” Peter chided, his cheeks as positively flaming as they could be without him passing out as he hip checks Wade to grab a slice as a distraction. “Or make me think you just like me for my good looks.”

Deadpool just shoves the rest of the slice in his mouth and scoffed, talking around a mouthful, “Silly little spider, I like you for that dick that don’t quit.”

Peter chokes on his mouthful, making Deadpool laugh his ass off, spraying cooked meat and sauce all over the place.

Eventually they go back to eating, Peter taking his half of the pizzas to the island in the center of the ragged kitchen so Wade can sit on the peninsula where the huge man can keep moaning around his food, “Soo good.” or “Oh mama.” to make Peter blush under his mask.

Peter has no choice but to shake his head at Wade’s antics. 

Halfway through their food, Peter somehow manages to threaten Wade’s prospects at Mario Cart, and the ex-merc disappears into the bedroom only to come back with his X-box and a vengeance. He drags Peter to the couch and they end up playing for hours, until at last Peter passes out against Wade’s shoulder.

When he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn curled up on the couch with Wade snoring like a chainsaw underneath him, Peter almost doesn’t even blink twice. He’s dry now, and warm, and comfortable beyond explanation. Wade hadn’t tried to push him away or pull him closer during the night but they’d both drifted to this position while unconscious.

At first, he just snuggles back into Wade’s chest as the huge man holds him close, their legs a tangle, and Peter as comfortable as can be. But Karen both urges him to wake up and to call Tony before the older man bursts an aneurism, since he’s been trying to reach Peter for hours.

Wade wakes up as Peter starts to crawl away, but Peter shushes him back to sleep, and to Peter’s surprise he kisses Peter’s bare knuckles, Peter having pulled his gloves off last night while playing games. 

Wade’s lips are chapped and raw feeling against Peter’s sensitive skin.

Peter’s whole body feel like it cracks open right then and there. Affection oozing from every one of Peter’s cells.

He pulls down his mask, and grabs up his gloves, “You’re a freak.”

“In the sheets and in the streets.” Is all Wade replies before he’s snoring again.

Smiling, Peter decides to go out the window instead of going out the front. He has Karen send a call out to Tony who chastises Peter for the entire twenty-minute swing home about him single-handedly sending Tony to an early grave with worry, but he ends it with, “There's a party at my house tonight for all the new recruits, you coming or what?”

“Of course, Tony.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right off the bat, this chapter is going to end on a cliff hanger of sorts, so if you want to wait to read until the next chapter, do so.
> 
> Also, sorry if my editing of this chapter is terrible, i had a lot of view points i wanted to add and i had to upload and read/spellcheck from my phone because im housesitting for a place with shit internet speed and my laptop is not having it. 
> 
> Anywho, happy reading.

_ He was the kind of thing that destroyed men by ripping still beating hearts out of chests and ate them over their master’s like a Greek fucking god. He was all sharp edges and he was perfect seams. He was a savage and he was exquisitely beautiful. _

_ He could hold you together after cutting you down and you’d let him, you’d want and wish him to. _

_ He was a beast, but at least he let me call myself his. At least I got to see the heaven in his heart as well as the hell in his head. _

_ At least I got to love him, while I had the chance. _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  


Peter doen’t have a chance to shower before his school alarm goes off and he has to change into civies and stuff his suit into his bakpack and races down the stairs still smelling like the smoke and gun oil that is so reminiscent of Wade, it makes Peter smile and heart hurt with longing at the same time.

Ned was already gone for his robotics club so Peter took to the morning streets by himself. 

Well, not by himself but as alone as he could get nowadays. “Hey, Karen play me some music.”

His skateboarding mix turned on and the dubstep Babyshark remix was first in line.

Venom hissed in Peter’s ear. “_ I thought you wanted music _.”

“This is music,” Peter defended as he skated across a crosswalk and swerved around a crowd of people then jumped back up the curb to carry on his school-bond trek, “And this song makes me smile.”

“_ ICK! _” Venom insisted.

“Why do you hurt me?” Peter sassed but had Karen change the song.

Something purely electrical came on and Venom squirmed with contentment. Peter rolled his eyes. The stupid goo.

“What kind of dork doesn’t like Baby shark?” Peter commented quietly to Karen in his ear.

“The sane kind,” Karen smiled.

Peter gasped, “How dare you!” He could almost hear her laughter in her silence. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side. Bros before alien lifeforms, Karen.”

“So we won’t be storming Area 51?”

“OH MY GOD! We already have our own alien how many more do you want?!” A family walking together turned a wary eye on Peter as he passed. He needs to keep his voice down.

Peter pushed his glasses up his nose and just tried to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the ride, but he came across MJ, Gwen, and Michelle all walking toward school and he hopped off his board to join them. 

“Good morning my lovies~,” Peter sang, but Michelle swatted at his arm.

“Boy, you call me that again and I'll break you over my knee like the stick you are.”

Peter made a dramatic noise as Gwen and MJ laughed. It was good to see a smile on MJ’s face.

“I’m going to have to agree with her there, Tiger,” MJ giggled.

“Oh so I can’t give you cutesy names but you get to? Double standards much?”

“Yup!” MJ laughed again.

“Oh!” Michelle turned on Peter, “Did you hear I am going to be working on your floor later today?”

“The spider floor?” Peter asked.

She rose a sceptical brow, “The what?”

“They have a huge tank of spider cages on that floor. They’re on loan from Oscorp. I work on them once a week to collect webs.” Peter was pretty proud of the fact the spiders seemed to behave when he was around. He felt like a spider whisperer. Ceaser Malan but for eight leged animals. 

“Cool.” Michelle said simply. “I don’t mind spiders.” To Peter’s surprise there wasn’t a lick of sarcasm in here voice.

“Cool,” Peter parroted back.

“Nerds!” Gwen coughed into her hand and they all laughed.

Peter donned his most sciency voice to say, “I think you mean science enthusiasts.”

“Oh boy,” Michelle and MJ said in horror at the same time.

“You are the worst person I know,” Gwen laughed.

“Especially when you're in a good mood,” MJ added.

“He's got that 'Young and in Love' look _ all _ over him,” Michelle says perceptively.

“Hey!” Peter protests but he knows he has on a stupid shy smile and rosey cheeks that tell it all. 

“It’s true,” MJ gasps, “Spill Parker.”

“Or else,” Gwen says threateningly.

Peter tries to lie, “I don't know what youre talking about. I am but a poor Christian boi trying to make his way in the world.”

Gwen takes hold of Peter’s arm and all three girls manhandle him into an alley just before the block their school starts on.

“Help, police,” Peter jokes when they corner him against a brownstone, trying to ease the tension that has Venom writhing with discomfort in Peter’s gut, or maybe that was just his own discomfort.

MJ steps the closest, “Listen Tiger, I know where you live and seen where you sleep, and if you dont tell me about your secret girlfriend-”

“Or boyfriend,” Michelle says, once again, perceptively. 

“-or boyfriend,” she amends, “Then you have no one but yourself to blame when we go to Ned.”

“You wouldn't,” Peter gasps, “He is such a gossip. Besides he doesn't even know anything.”

“Ah-ha!” Gwen smiles, “So there is something to know!”

Peter sputters and hears Venom break into laughter under Peter’s skin, the easy happiness easing Peter's discomfort- No fair!

Peter panics, “Look he’s- We’re not- I need more- Just friends-”

Michelle surprises them all but saying softly and sweetly, “It’s a boy?”

Peter can only blink, his mouth working without permission as Venom grumbles, “Man.”

“Oh,” MJ says softly her eyes going kind. “How much older is he?”

“I’m eighteen,” Peter defends.

“And still in highschool,” Gwen sighs.

“He’s… older.” At the look of horror on their faces he continues, “He makes me laugh is all. I don’t even know if he really likes me back. We haven’t _ done _ anything. At least anything more than flirting.”

MJ smiled with wet eyes, “I’m happy you are interested in someone.”

“MJ,” Peter whispers grabing her hand, “Don’t cry.”

She sniffles, “I’m just happy for you, I swear. Someone around here needs a hot piece of ass to bring around.”

“Hey!” the lesbians protest.

“Not all of us swing that way,” MJ reminds them, “I need _ male _ eye candy.”

The group breaks into laughter and they continue on to school without teasing Peter too much about having an older love interest. But that’s to say there is none.

  
  
  


The party was in full swing, and Tony was enjoying Nat and her new recruit. Spider-Girl was very intelligent if a little stoic like her mentor. Widow was teaching her well.

Tony was in the middle of regaling a funny anecdote when along came a spider.

Swooping down and agilely coming to a perfect stop just beside his mentor, Spider-Man looked almost regale. If Tony hadn’t seen the kid shoot apple juice out his nose or had to be stuck in the same room as the kid when he farted, Tony might have actually believed the sense of composer and sophistication Spider-Man was portraying.

He was standing just in front of Tony looking, for all the world, _ protective _.

It made Tony smirk. The kid was posturing at the sight of new blood.

“Spider-Man,” Tony greeted warmly, a little amusement in his tone, “I’d like you to meet Spider-Girl. Spider-Girl, this is my protégé.

The fully suited woman standing just beside Romanoff, offered a hand to the kid, “Big fan. Obviously.” She gestured at the webbed features on her suit, from where she’d taken inspiration from the kid’s old suit designs.

Spider-Man looked down at her offered hand before carefully taking it into his own, and now would be the usual time for the kid to either say something funny or put a foot in his mouth, but surprising all three of the people around him, the kid said nothing.

In fact, he was almost scary silent.

Tony saw Romanoff’s face harden, her eyes calculating as she watched Spider-Man with her new recruit.

Uh-oh.

Tony was just about to step between the kids when Spider-Man took a step forward instead, walking straight into the other spider’s personal space.

The air around them stiffened.

With his face inches from the girl’s face, he nearly whispered, “I know you.”

The girl’s whole body went stiff and Widow looked ready to murder Tony’s spider-child until Spider-Girl broke the tension by whispering, “I recognize your voice too.”

Oh-shit.

They knew each other's secret identity. Nat didn't even know her proteges real name, same as Tony. 

The spiders were silent but millions of words flashed between them. Their shoulders relaxed and they seemed to settle into this new world view of each other.

Tony suddenly felt like he was intruding. Unprecedented, this was his fucking penthouse!

“Is it just me?” Tony asked as he blinked over at Romanoff, “Or is it a little hot out here?” he tugged at his color as if to expel some heat.

Natasha shot him an irritated glance but cleared her throat loud enough to break the spell between the kids.

Spider-Man, as if finally realizing what he was doing, took a few hurried steps back before just turning tail and walking over to the edge of the balcony to sulk, appearing dejected, to Tony’s astonishment.

Tony could almost feel the blast of heat from Spider-Girl’s blush as she turned toward her own mentor, speechlessly gapping.

“Let’s go get you something to drink,” Romanoff said lightly, guiding her protégé into the tower and toward the bar, but not before shooting a meaningful glance at Tony and then to his own spider child.

What the fucking is Tony supposed to say to that? God, why does he had to be the adult?

“Jeesh,” Tony sauntered over, “Kid. That was unexpected.”

Tony couldn't imagine the shock of having your identity revealed out of the blue. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried, but he definitely was concerned as to why the kid now looked like someone kicked his puppy.

Tony put a hand on Spidey's shoulder and as usual the kid leaned into it, “Kid-”

“Don't tell me everything is going to be okay Tony, I already know it will-”

The balcony doors open and Pep comes out in an elegant dress than punches the breath from Tony’s lungs. He really is the luckiest man on earth.

But her approach has Spidey turning to fall into her open arms like a child coming home, her hand petting down his head and back in a soothing motion.

“Spidey,” she cooed and the kid spills his guts.

“It feels like I don't really know anyone anymore.”

She looks up to Tony and he sighs, “Spidey and Spidey-Girl know each other from their civies.”

“I also ran into another...”

Pep nodded against the side of his head, “You’ll figure it out honey, you just have to take it one step at a time and _ talk _to them.”

The kid hissed with distaste against her shoulder, and Tony could tell he was feeling better. 

Tony rubbed his head, “Now that that's settled, let's get some food in you.”

“Loki!” Spider-Man crosses the living room in the blink of an eye. One moment he’s casually talking with Tony and Pepper, and the next he is bouncing in his boots and being wrapped in a tight hug by Azgard’s mightiest illusionist.

The kid keeps the weirdest array of friends.

Thor, who is magically linked to his brother like a ball and chain as Loki’s punishment for trying to take over Earth, is not far behind his brother who is quick to drop his dramatics for Spider-Man.

Well, not all of them, but most of them.

The two of them are quick to find a corner devoid of people and talk excitedly with their hands as they catch up. Hawkeye watches them from his perch on the bar. He sometimes wonders what the hell the two of them have to talk about, but they both could talk for _ hours _. Maybe they’re both just melodramatic enough to understand each other.

Hawkeye watches them for a few more minutes, and even glances over at Tony and Thor who are looking on like wary but proud parents. Happy their wards have a friend but scared of what that friendship implies.

For Thor, it is probably something along the lines of his brother needing someone who does not overshadow him but at the same time he does not try to dominate. Loki needs someone he can care for without feeling it buys him any favors. Thor might never be that person for his brother, especially because ever since Loki tried to drop aliens on Manhattan, he is basically Loki’s jailer.

For Tony, this is probably just another sign Spider-Man is a worthy successor, but also that the little hero is able to do something the rest of the Avengers have had a huge problem doing in the past: Spider-Man, because he identifies with them, can sympathize with the big bad guys, like Loki, God of mischief, for example. But that also implies that Spider-Man is also venerable in a way. He identifies with a mass murderer after all, on some level, he is either weak enough to bend to them eventually, or he has already turned to the dark side one or twice before but able to hold himself like he hasn’t.

But who in the Avengers hasn’t gone a little too far once or twice? It’s kind of a necessity, really. You have to have faced off with the bad at least once, so you know how to turn away from it when you face off with it again.

“So, which one are you?” Matt asks as he slides onto the stool right beside where Clint is perched _ on _ the bar, rather than at it. “Hawkeye, Nosiest Avenger?”

“Oh, Ha Ha,” Clint laughs sardonically, “You’re a fucking riot.”

Matt’s smile is almost blinding- HAHAHAHAhaa (but for real this time)- as he lifts his glass up to hide his mouth behind it. It’s a shame, Matt has a pretty smile.

“Anyway, that’s Natasha,” Clint shrugs, laughing hysterically as the Russian woman, who’s been happily tending the bar, with her protege who is on the other side of the long bar, because everyone talks to the bartender. Nat leans over the bar to swat at his arm.

“I’m only right here, you asshole,” Natasha chided.

“You want me to make fun of you behind your back?”

She throws a wet rag at him, “Stop showing off in front of your _ boyfriend _.”

Ouch. Nat sees the spilt second of hurt in Clint’s face but it’s too late to take it back, so she just shoots him an apologetic look that lasts a for just a blink of the eye, and- Wallah! All is forgiven. Super spies, using special training to solve arguments, like adults!

Matt, because he is a perceptive little bugger, picks up on the exchange, but can’t make heads or tails of it because the Catholic bastard hasn’t quite learned how to speak Clint/Natasha specific facial ticks, even if he has learned all of the Clint specific ones.

Clint kicks playfully at Matt’s knee, “Don’t listen to her, she’s just jealous I’m so much funnier than her.”

Nat huffs haughtily, and walks away muttering, “Yeah, you wish, Bird Brain.” with almost-affection in her voice. It is as close as Natasha gets to real affection, so Clint takes it as if it were.

Smiling, the archer turns to his partner, “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re the nosiest person in the room. You got the best sense of smell this side of the Mississippi.”

Matt pursed his lips at Clint and downing the last of his scotch, but nodded in agreement, “Don’t like how you said it, but you’re probably right.”

“Probably?” Clint smiled brightly.

Daredevil waved the question away, not bothering to answer, “You want to get a blind man a drink?” he asks instead, holding out his empty glass.

He grabs the glass, “Since you asked so nicely?-“

“Since you pissed off the bartender?-“ he interrupts.

“You think she ain’t gonna spit in _ both _ our drinks?-“

“At least from over here I can pretend I didn’t notice.”

Clint laughs lightly, and Matt lets loose another wide smile, but this one can’t be hidden behind anything.

It’s a freaking gorgeous smile.

Clint scurries away before his accelerated heart beat give himself away, but he’s not so sure it works.

He places his order with Nat and wonders back over to Matt who has been encroached by Steve Rogers and his ex-assassin shadow who is holding lightly at Steve’s shoulder as if it were a lifeline, as if it would be any less telling if he just held Steve’s hand like a man and got over himself. But Matt, ever the everyman, didn’t seem fazed by the glorious and powerful aura that is _ Captain America _, and it seemed to put Bucky both at ease and on edge.

But that was like his default mood anyway. 

The man was one bad dream away from a full-blown meltdown, but Clint _ was not _ going to question the huge man or his just as huge handler since both seemed certain that if Bucky ever needed realignment, Steve was more than capable of bringing him back to homeostasis.

“Buck-aroo,” Clint greeted as he hopped into the stool beside Matt, where he placed an arm on either side of himself on the bar, and if one arm just happened to fall behind Matt, then no one could really blame him. “How’s it hanging?”

“We just wanted to know how Deadpool’s been doing on missions,” Steve said lightly. As he was the one to bring in Deadpool, he had some right to know, plus the man had acted as Pool’s handler before he handed the reins over to Stark. From what Clint had picked up from Wilson, the ex-merc had been treated nicely by Cap, so Clint didn’t feel too guilty about just telling him the truth.

“He’s been fine, helpful even.”

“We meant…” Steve shifted uncomfortably before turning to Bucky.

“Has he been mentally stable?” Bucky blurted, not caring for subtly, but Steve relaxes like he was relying at least partly on Buck’s directness in this situation.

Matt and Clint shared a look, “Why?” Hawkeye asked carefully.

Steve looked wary, but Bucky looked frustrated, “Just answer the question.” The dark-haired man demanded, his voice soft as if that would take the edge off of it.

“He’s been sticking fairly close to mission directives,” Matt answers honestly.

“No mood swings or undue paranoia, but I also ain’t a therapist, just a paranoid ex-assassin. So, take that as you will,” Clint adds because Cap wanted to know specifically about mental stability, not about if Wilson follows the rules. Hell, Cap didn’t even follow rules most days.

Cap considers it before turning to silently facial tick at Barnes who just nods and then Cap’s turning back, “Think Wilson’s ready for undercover ops?”

“Why ask us, and not Stark,” Matt asks, suddenly careful.

“We did,” Bucky says.

“We figured you guys would know more since you’ve worked closer beside him than Stark,” Steve clarifies.

Matt leans a little toward Clint as he thinks, his face flat as he thinks. But Clint doesn’t have to think about it, Wilson would be out of his skin with excitement for something more than ‘Go-In and be a Big Distraction.’

“I think he’s ready and willing,” Clint says easily.

Nat walks over with their drinks, setting them down and subtly not walking far so she can listen in on their conversation. Tried and true, Nosiest Avenger.

Steve seems to notice it too, but he only sends her a glance before asking, “What about Spider-Man?”

Clint and Matt pause for this.

Spider-Man is not exactly in Shield, including him in missions is against protocol even if Clint and Matt do it from time to time. But Steve just hasn’t taken the time to add the kid in as option before, always saying he was too young, too inexperienced. Stark must have had something to do with this…

“What’s this about?” Clint smiled, he loved good gossip.

“I let my pride and pettiness stand between us for too long… we had been close as children and as I grew to be a man and I pushed him away, calling him weak and wicked for all the things I was jealous of. I let others’ praise go to my head and let myself believe that I was somehow better in any way than my own brother… Everyone he loved had turned on him, calling him out for every insecurity, even the ones he did not know he carried.” Thor’s face was washed in regret and sadness, “I understand why he felt he needed to lash out. I would have done far worse in his situation. I can’t imagine the pain I caused him, the pain my father handed down when he revealed Loki’s true heritage as if it revealed some dark truth about Loki’s soul.

“It matters not where he was born. He is my brother and I love him dearly. I know I have damaged our relationship beyond a repair, but I hope with time he may forgive me, may someday except that my love for him is so far beyond true, that some days I know not where his heart ends and mine begins.”

Tony takes a loud, sardonic sip of his soda, he has no idea how he lets himself be sucked into conversations like this. Maybe this is how Bruce feels. “Bit melodramatic, aren’t you? I forget sometimes you think you’re in the theatre performing Shakespeare,” Tony snarks.

Thor regards him critically, “You think you do not have protentional to hurt those who care for you?” Tony is about to raise his voice, to say something along the lines of no one is stupid enough to care about him, but Thor glances at the little spider boy and Tony’s mouth clicks shut, bone dry. “You not only have someone who can be hurt, but someone who you must not forget to cherish, Stark. Love is not as easily mended as some believe. And is lost easiest with betrayal.”

Tony sets down his drink and turns on Thor, “And how do you think I’m going to betray him exactly?”

Thor meets his irritation with a calm demeanor, “I did not mean to say that you were planning to. Maybe it is less a criticism, as you have taken it, and more an advice I offer to a man whom I would not wish suffering, for a child whom I also I would wish to spare.” He took a hearty drink of the beer in his hand, “Or perhaps I am just sharing my problems in hopes of relieving myself of their burden.”

Tony smacked his chops and looked at Thor distastefully -God, he should send Bruce a fruit basket or something- before slapping the huge man on the shoulder saying a brisk, “Theretherechamp,” and spinning on his heels and striding away before the oaf completely knocks Tony off his rocker.

At the bar, Tony orders a rum and coke from Romanoff, but just receives a cold glass of straight coke. “You are the devil, woman,” Tony glares.

The horned, red suited dude at the end of the bar whose been canoodling with Barton calls over in a flat humor, “I think I trademarked the devil shtick.”

“Watch your tongue unless you want to pay some heavy royalties, Stark,” Barton chirps merrily over his friend’s shoulder.

Tony raises an eyebrow smirking lightly to himself, “You have royalties rolling in on that? You must have one _ hell _ of a lawyer.”

Clint burst into full-body laughter.

His friend shares a knowing look with the man who signs his preverbal Shield mandated paychecks, and smirks when he says, “I’ll make sure my guy sends you a bill for that.”

“You do that,” Tony laughs as he takes a sip of his drink, moseying away to pretend to mingle and instead hopes to maybe manage to feed his protégé who refuses to feed himself properly to keep up with his supped up metabolism.

Tony kept a wary eye on Spider-Man as he conversed with the first reason the Avengers assembled, the kid was making the god laugh out loud with a surely riveting tail, and Tony could see the kid’s preening response even through the mask.

“They grow up so fast,” Bruce said from beside Tony making him jump slightly in surprise.

Tony shot his fellow avenger an irritated glance, “You’ve been hanging out with Nat too much. She’s teaching you to be sneaky.”

“She is not!” Bruce laughed but stole a warm glance at the woman behind the bar on the other side of the room. “I might have picked some things up on my own, though.”

Tony patted him on the shoulder, “Subtlety wasn’t one of the things, Brucie.”

Bruce’s cheeks tinged pink and he smiles shily, but he turned away from Nat to Tony, “Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “What can you do?”

Tony smiles back and takes a sip of his Coke, half-wishing it was a little less virgin than it was. Just a little.

A server carrying a fresh tray of horderves tries to pass Tony, but he grabbed the guy gently by the sleeve and pointed over to his protégé, “Will you hand that tray to the kid, and tell him I said to have at it.”

The server looked a bit confused, but nodded and made his way over to Spider-Man, handing the kid the tray and saying something that made his head snap over to Tony a bit embarrassed, but he took the tray anyway, stuffing a few of the specially picked finger sandwiches into his mouth under the mask before going back to talking with his friend.

Bruce makes a choked noise, “I always forget how much of a dad you are with him.”

Tony just shrugs it off, parroting, “Yeah, well. What can you do?”

Bruce just rolls his eyes, “I’m going back to the lab,” he huffs and makes his way over to the elevators without another word. But him getting back to the lab is probably for the best. Guests were still arriving, and Bruce still get anxious in crowds.

Peter tries not to let his mind wander back to how Michelle is Spider-Girl. Because _ Michelle _ is _ Spider-Girl _. A super that has been around almost as long as Peter has, though they have never met face to face, they patrol in neighboring areas and have seen each other from a distance a time or two.

It was shocking how easy it was to recognize her voice through her mask. Or maybe it wasn’t shockng at all. He was good with hearing voices (lol, no joke intended)

Loki is in the middle of showing Peter his new ability to conjure Midgard items without saying the spell out loud and hands Peter a black silky scarf that has Peter pulling off his glove to feel. Peter knows Loki can see his face light up under the mask, and a small smile even graces his lips.

“Oh, Spider-Child,” he says almost wistfully, “How I could spoil you.”

Peter pulls up his mask enough to rub the silk at his cheek for an ecstatic Venom, smiling as he rolls his eyes, “I’m spoiled enough.”

“Untrue,” he says simply though he shrugs, but Loki is like that. He thinks there is absolutely nothing wrong with demanding anything and everything he desires. And though he would deny giving anyone anything, he likes giving Peter things if it isn’t any work to him. He likes to pamper and be pampered. On that level, they work. They basically become too huge queens as soon as they’re within earshot of each other.

“Anyway,” Loki says suddenly, dispelling Peter’s thoughts, “You have a new romantic interest in your life?”

“Uh… no?” Peter tries but his cheeks burn bright red and give him away.

Loki’s eyes ignite with passion, “I knew it! Tell me everything!”

“Nooooo,” he squirms, “ How does everyone know? Besides, we can’t talk about him- especially not here-“

“So, it is a ‘he’ then?” Loki smiles wickedly. For the love of God, the god of mischief sure has a heart for gossip, maybe he should consider a name change. “Is he handsome?” Loki presses.

Sighing dramatically before scooting closer to the god, Peter whispers conspiringly, “I’m not so sure everyone would consider him handsome, but I can see it.” Loki is listening intently, curiosity and intrigue plain on his face, though Peter isn’t sure how to put what he wants to say delicately. “He’s got scars all over his body-“

“Scars are meaningless.”

“Scars on_ every _inch of skin,” Peter presses before he blushes brightly, “At least that’s what I heard- I-I- I don’t know from experience- He is always covered in his suit but -“ Loki nudges him in the ribs with his sharp elbow and pulls Peter from his embarrassment and babbling easily with a kind, understanding smirk. “Anyway,” Peter clears his throat and leans his head on Loki’s shoulder. “He has blue eyes, wide shoulders, and muscles for daaaaays.”

“Mmm,” Loki hums thoughtfully and glances over at his brother before turning back down to Peter, “I am aware of the type, though you do not seem the type to fall for some who is merely easy on the eyes.”

“I mean, he really makes me laugh. I don’t think anyone’s ever made me smile so hard in long time.” Peter shrugs, petting at the silk scarf, “And I’m not sure I would say I’m _ falling _ for him, per say-“

“You say he is covered in scars that would scare others away, but not you, and have found traits under his flaws to which you see beauty.”

“I just don’t think the scars take away from his good looks is all,” Peter sighs, “When I see them, I just see them as a part of him. Mutants and Mutates all have a chance for their powers to show outwardly. Hell, I could have grown more limbs or more eyes, I could have changed so much but all I got was some better powers, sticky limbs, and my spinnerets. I don’t think his skin makes him any less beautiful, maybe it just makes him _ more _beautiful. He’s suffered, but he won’t let it hold him back. Won’t let it stop him from being who he wants to be.”

Noticing Loki was fairly quiet, Peter picks up his head and sees Loki blinking curiously down at him with bright red eyes. Peter smiles faintly at him, his affection swelling at the break in concentration he caused in the god for his concealment charms to ebb enough for his natural looks to peak through, or maybe it was a test to gauge Peter’s tolerance for nonconformity, because Peter notices the skin around Loki’s eyes tinging a faint blue, his markings growing darker against his still fleshy cheeks. 

Eyes sparkling with amusement, Peter smiles fully, “Don’t you dare,” Peter said, “You’re beautiful no matter your skin color, you jerk. You can’t test my tolerance when I’d be enraptured by your good looks no matter what!”

Rolling his eyes, Loki let his concealment charms flash back up and smiled a private like smile.

His voice was soft and warm as he whispers, “You are a wonderful little creature, Spider-ling.”

Peter smiles at his friend’s kind words, “No, just not an asshole. Besides, weren’t we talking about Wade?”

Loki pretends to be exasperated, “Why do we always have talk about you and your next conquests?” As if _ he _ wasn’t the one to bring it up and press for info.

“Because if we talked about yours, we’d be here for forever,” he said cheekily, and scurried away when Loki shot him an appalled look.

“Spider!” he cried as he took off after a skipping Peter who hid easily behind Thor, peeking over his shoulder.

“Mr. Thor!” Peter cried in obviously feigned fear, “Mr. Loki is scaring me!”

Loki skid to a halt, his face was bright with amusement, but darkened as his competitive nature took over. “You play a dangerous game, young Spider.”

“But I’m so _ cute _!” he chirped happily.

“Okay okay,” Tony said stepping between them disapprovingly, “Let’s not get all railed up.”

“No!” Loki growled dramatically, “Let’s!” The lights flickered as Loki’s magic filled the room, Loki’s and Thor’s capes drifted up in a non-existent breeze. “Let’s play young Spider!”

This line of action was exactly what Tony didn’t want, because all the Avengers but Tony and Thor jumped into position automatically.

Hawkeye’s bow was drawn and aimed in a blink of an eye, Black Widow dropped into a fighting stance with a knife in each hand, Steve had his shield in hand and Bucky was standing just beside him, his features as dark as night with controlled tension. Vison and Scarlet Witch hadn’t been in the room, but Vison had morphed them both through the floor at the surge of power from Loki.

And if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, Deadpool was already standing behind Loki with both unsheathed swords crossed under his chin. Peter hadn’t even known Wade was in the tower, let alone the room.

“Let’s not lose our head,” Deadpool growled calmly, not even snickering at his own pun, his voice dark and rich with texture.

“No one’s laying a finger on that Baby boy.”

A pleasant chill ran up Peter’s spine at both Wade’s voice and the nick-name, but he could see the addition of Wade to the scenario officially had _ all _the Avengers about to spring into action. So, he stepped out from behind Thor slowly, broadcasting his movements as not to spook anyone, his ungloved hands held high to ward off anyone from moving.

Wade wasn’t wearing his mask, and Peter saw his eyes track him steadily.

Loki’s green eyes were dark and menacing, but Peter knew his friend just enough- no he knew his friend very well- and knew that Loki’s bark was almost always just a show, but was especially so in a situation like this, where he was surrounded by people who had taken him down so easily before.

But Deadpool didn’t know that, and Loki did_ not _ like to be threatened.

“Deadpool,” Peter said as calmly as he could, his voice suddenly pitchier than hell but he couldn’t help it now, “Deadpool, it was just a joke. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Deadpool’s eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched, as if now that the opportunity to spill some blood had been placed in front of him, the temptation was almost too much. “There’s still a lot of power swirling around here for a little joke, Baby boy-“

Tony scoffed, “Baby Boy-?”

“Not helping!” Peter hissed at his mentor and stepped around him to stand directly in front of Loki, still able to see Wade over the god’s shoulder. “Deadp-“

“His blades are nothing to me,” Loki interrupted calmly, “He could not hope to kill a God-“

“YOU WANNA FUCKING BET!” Wade screamed, and the lights cut out completely as the magic in the air surged with Loki’s barely contained anger.

“Stop!” Peter grabbed Loki’s arm with one hand before it could raise to cast a spell over his shoulder, and the other slipped against Loki’s neck to rip both swords out of Wade’s hands bare fisted, but Wade’s reflex was to hold them tighter, not relinquish them so the sharp edges ripped through Peter’s skin until they hit bone and Peter used spider strength to take them. Blood splattered across Loki’s face and the room’s temperature dropped dramatically as Peter cried out in pain.

It all took less than a second, and it wasn’t until the handles of the katana’s thumped to the ground that Peter actually felt the burning, gushing wounds on his left palm. “Wade!” he cried impulsively in shock at sight of all the blood.

The ex-merc flinched and Loki swooped forward to catch Peter as his knees buckled

“_ Wade! _” Venom cried inside Peter and lurched Peter’s uninjured hand over Loki’s shoulder to grab at Wade’s hand as it hung in shock from his shoulder. The magical god curled Peter’s injured hand between both of his, casting healing spells as he hung his head against Peter shoulder, and hot hears burst from Peter’s eyes as the sudden, all-consuming pain of it. But he stared up at the shock-frozen almost-hero who wasn’t meeting his eye.

Peter could feel all the Avenger’s watching in different stages of shock but didn’t pay attention. Tony was rubbing soothing circles in Peter’s back, telling him to keep breathing, but he didn’t listen. Loki’s magic was seeping into his skin, working aside Venom’s and Peter’s healing abilities to close up all the bleeding and mend all the intricate, delicate muscles, but Peter shut it out.

All he wanted, all he paid attention to, was Wade’s too quick breathing, and twitching fingers as Peter stared up at Wade’s desperate blue eyes, looking over Peter’s head in dawning horror, his mouth a thin line and eyebrow muscles twitching all over the place.

In a desperately, small voice that shook even Peter to the core, Peter whispered, “Wade.” The man flinched, and Peter’s heart felt cold, “_ Look at me _.”

Blue eyes flicked to Peter’s and the little hero could almost hear the riot surging inside the larger man’s head. And from what little Peter had heard of them, the boxes weren’t always very kind.

“I don’t blame you, DP” he tried desperately, but his voice was tiny and broken and afraid, “This isn’t your fault-“

A purely haunted look fell over Wade’s face before it morphed into anger.

Deadpool jerked away, violently snatching his hand back and making a move toward his swords to pick them up but down-right ran away as soon as he saw Peter’s blood dripping off them.

He was halfway to the balcony when Captain America and Tony jumped to stop him, each grabbing a wrist.

“Wade.” Captain said calmly, but was over run by Tony screaming, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going Wilson!?”

Oh-no.

Tony fell back hard as Deadpool ripped his arm away and brought it back to elbow Tony in the face. And if the other Avenger’s had any mind to jump toward the merc like Peter had, they were stopped as Cap waved them down, “Stop, we can solve this peacefully!”

But Deadpool was already sprinting toward the balcony and Peter was right behind him.

“Spider!” Loki called after him. Followed by a chorus of “Spider-Man’s!” that were once again quieted by Cap saying, “Let him go after him.”

The doors were already propped open for the party, so Wade didn’t even have to hesitate to open them as he threw himself outside and over the edge of the balcony, Spider-Man diving after him.

Peter shot a web down to Wade’s back and pulled them together as he arched his back to shoot off another web at an adjacent building that when it went taut, made Peter scream out in pain.

He had only seconds of healing on his damaged palm and apparently it had not been enough.

Peter’s grip on the web faltered and it slipped through his fingers sending them careening at an angle away from Stark tower and to the ground. Wade tugged on the hand around his waist, trying to pry Peter’s hand away so he could fall unperturbed.

“Wade, _ please _!” Peter begged and braced himself for pain as he shot another web. He yelled again as the web in his had snapped taut, and they arched further away from the ground and toward the sky, but at the end of their arch, Peter didn’t have a free hand to shoot another web, so he aimed their next fall toward the top of nearest building’s roof.

They hit it hard, rolling apart with twin grunts of pain on impact.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thing, after a grueling editing session i decided to cut A LOT of stuff and/or edit the tone of the rest of this fic. It was orginally going to go super angsty and dark, but i just dont want to go too dark with this fic. But maybe i can use some of the scenes for a separate fic or something.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos and the whatnot. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Loneliness has a price. _

_ And if it isn’t your soul, _

_ Then perhaps it’s mine. _

  
  
  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

Peter’s head was spinning when he finally opened his eyes. He didn’t know if he had been unconscious for five seconds or five years, he felt a bit delirious.

As he blinked away the darkness from the corner of his eyes, he saw his injured, left palm was directly in his line of sight, and he could feel the symbiote healing efficiently with his body.

Just by how the symbiote's black tendrils were stretched over his hand, and how it hurt, he had a feeling the wounds were quite severe. Which made sense, the swords must have been sharp as fuck and Peter had grabbed them without his glove. He was lucky he hadn’t lost all his fingers.

His healing factor was good, and Venom’s improved it tenfold, but Peter doubted he could regrow limbs, even something as small as his thin fingers.

Gulping, Peter turned his mind away from his hand to catalogue the pain radiating up his spine and over all his joints from the horrific rolling landing they’d made. Once he had concluded, that while everything hurt, nothing was broken, Peter turned his eyes to the huge figure strewn a few feet away.

Wade was flat on his back, his eyes unseeing as they stared up at the darkening sky. One hand covering his mouth as he hyperventilated into it, and the other holding a loaded gun to his temple.

A broken whimper slipped passed Peter’s mouth. He couldn’t watch that. He couldn’t watch Wade kill himself. NONONONO!

Peter’s aching joints wailed in protest and another pathetic noise crept up his throat as he crawled to his feet.

Wade jerked in surprise at Peter’s sound of discontent, and the gun pointed directly at Peter’s head, but he didn’t immediately start shooting which is good, not that Peter couldn’t have dodged the bullets if he had to, it just would have been unpleasant.

“_ Speak kindly _,” Venom suggested softly in Peter’s ear, pulling back from Peter’s bare palm to reveal pink, but healed nonetheless, skin.

The ex-merc’s breathing had stilled to a slow in and out, that if not for the mania screaming in his eyes, Peter could have convinced himself was a good sign. Instead, every inch of Deadpool looked dangerous, not even his eyes showing the hidden mirth that usually swathed Deadpool like a second skin.

He looked just like the madman that Karen had wanted Peter to believe him to be. He looked like a tool some secret government fucks had beat into him.

He looked broken and torn, and if Peter were honest, he still looked just as fucking hot as before. His features hard as stone but breath taking all the same.

Breathing smoothly, Wade got to his feet as light and agile as a dancer, one smooth motion that enraptured Peter entirely.

There was no world outside the two of them.

They were just to broken things. Two broken men, trying to desperately seal themselves away in their own little worlds where they could only ever hurt themselves, where they could finally stop watching the ones they cared for bleed.

When you find someone like that, when you find someone just as damaged as you, just as lost and afraid, you can’t turn away. You never turn away.

It’d be like turning away from God as one of his angels.

And standing as still as they were? Breathing as synced as they were? Peter seeing Wade as clearly as he saw his reflection in a mirror?

Peter could believe in some concept of God, because he felt like he was made to be devoted to Wade. His every instinct and impulse to follow Wade until the world disappears, until oblivion sets them a place at the table and invites them to stay. Everything belonged to Wade, Peter was just borrowing from time to time.

Peter stared down the line of barrel pointed at him, to the man wielding the shiny weapon.

There should have been fear, or at least annoyance, there was not. He was calm, centered even, despite the indication of lethal force.

Peter let his now healed hand draw up slowly to his mouth, where he kissed softly at the new flesh. Deadpool’s head dropped to the side in confusion and he shifted uncertainly. Peter didn’t let that dissuade him, he reached out his bare fingers toward the gun, stepping closer as he did so, letting Wade see the unscathed skin.

Deadpool growled, but Peter cut him off before he could speak, whispering out an unintentionally breathy, “_ Wade _.” And that seemed to freeze the merc completely.

Peters fingers glided across the barrel’s smooth surface.

He stepped up to the weapon, pressing his forehead against its end.

From this close, there was no dodging if the unusually unstable man desired to pull the trigger.

Peter’s senses didn’t flare, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in danger, it just meant he trusted Deadpool.

Deadpool was still frozen, Peter canted his head to the side, nuzzling the gun with him nose. “DP,” Peter breathed, his heart finally picking up. His senses flaring with a strange pleasure at the sight of Deadpool’s eyes dilating.

“Pull. The. Trigger.”

The gun fell from Deadpool’s hands, in a way that said he had thrown it down rather than fumbled it. As if a part of him wanted to shoot Peter, to kill, but couldn’t bring himself to.

Wade grabbed both of Peter’s shoulders and shook him violently, screaming, “DON’T YOU KNOW I’M A MONSTER!?” His voice was shredded with anger and fear. “I HURT YOU! I’LL HURT YOU AGAIN!”

“NO!” Peter screamed back and broke the ex merc’s hold to launch himself at him instead. Peter’s arms wrapped around Wade’s shoulders, and his legs locked just above all the pouches around Wade’s waist, his face tucking under the huge man’s neck.

Wade immediately grabbed at the little spider-thing and tried to push him away, but Peter held strong. “No!” a sob broke from Peter’s mouth. “You aren’t a monster! Not to me! You can’t be!”

Peter devolved into hacking tears and sobs, as his whole body flooded with heart wrenching agony, unnamable, and sudden, but true.

Deadpool struggled to push him away, but never reached for a gun or knife that actually had a chance to remove him. Because Deadpool had not meant to hurt Peter. It was an accident. An accident! Nothing but a flesh wound.

Deadpool fell to his knees and hung his head onto Peter’s shoulder, his hands holding tight to Peter’s ribs.

“You don’t know,” Wade growls angrily. “You don’t know what they want me _ to do _ \- what I _ have _ done- will do again- They were screaming for me to kill him. To kill everyone in the room! Even you! You’ve never done nothing. You don’t deserve it, but they don’t care- they didn’t care- they got the scent of blood as I pressed the blade to his throat and it was all I could to not kill him right then and there!-“

“Don’t listen to them,” Peter interrupted. “Don’t you let those fucking voices tell you who you are, Deadpool. They are who they are, but _ you _ are _ you _ . You’re in control. You make the choices, now. Not them. You aren’t a monster because of what you’ve done. Of what you were. Of what they want you to be. You’re a hero because you are trying to be. You’re trying to be good, a monster doesn’t do that. _ It can’t _.”

Tears streamed down Wade’s unmasked face and he shook with silent sobs, the boxes still screaming in his head, and Spidey still crying thickly against Wade’s neck. The little thing sounded so broken and scared _ for _ Wade- not scared _ of _ Wade, it was an important distinction.

Wade’s little spider had held his head to a loaded gun and dared Wade to pull the trigger.

{The _ balls _ on this guy.} Yellow agreed and calmed slightly.

White kept screaming in anger and disappointment at not enough blood shed.

A soft noise cuts through Wade’s thought processes. A rolling, vibrating sound curling and licking against Wade’s neck and chest. It takes him too long to realize it is his Baby-boy that is making the noise, not a feature of the kid’s fancy-shmancy suit.

It takes him a few more moments to realize that the noise it a soft purr. Like a huge fucking cat or something.

The purring intensifies, growing louder and stronger as Spidey nuzzles into Wade’s neck, his arms winding around Wade like he’s precious and cared for. “You’re not a monster, DP,” the little thing slurs into Wade’s suit with sadness still heavy in his voice, “You’re not a monster. You’re just a little broken, just like me. Broken like all the beautiful things in the world. Broken like everything worth loving is.”

Wade’s heart stutters. “You don’t mean that, Baby boy.” He whispers, holding the hand not supporting the hero to the back of Spidey’s delicate head. “You… shouldn’t...”

Spidey’s hand moves up to Wade’s face and he leaned just far enough away to meet Wade’s eyes, “It’s okay to be broken, DP.”

The little hero is just so earnest. So perfect right when Wade needs him to be.

There isn’t anyone else in the world like this little man, this strangely purring, perfect little creature with tiny little wrists, with thin fingers, with a voice Wade wants to listen to all day.

Right now, Wade doesn’t care who or what is under the red mask, it doesn’t matter.

He’s found someone worth the world. Someone who makes sense to Wade. Who can laugh and cry and talk and walk and punch and kick and swing and shoot webs, and still make sense to Wade.

No one else makes sense.

But Spidey can speak perfect, pure, kind words to a man who has been broken and shattered and smashed by all the hands of anyone he has ever loved, and it shouldn’t make sense, but it does, if for no other reason that Wade wants it to- it doesn’t matter. It makes sense to Wade.

Wade pulls the little hero against his chest and crushes him in a hug.

Spidey makes a breathless sound.

“Come on Spidey-baby,” Wade stands with the mess of limbs still in his arms, barely remembering to holster his abandoned gun before he walks away, “I’m going to make you some pancakes!”

Spidey giggles and wraps his hands around Wade’s neck, not trying to move away at all, only closer, “I guess this means you feel better?”

Wade shrugs, he still feels shitty inside, but he isn’t a screaming, rage monster with an immediate death-wish, and the boxes rioting against him, so maybe he’s a little better. “Pancakes are great for cheering people up, Baby boy.”

He nuzzles back into Wade’s neck, “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Wade climbs down the fire escape of the building with the little hero still in his arms. Spidey not giving any inclination he wants to be put down, and Wade not wanting to release him yet anyway. Plus, the kid weighs about as much as your average paper weight, so he isn’t even slightly a burden to carry.

Spidey starts talking to his voices as Wade reaches the bottom of the building and starts walking down the dark streets to his apartment, Wade tries not to listen but they’re obviously talking about him.

“No,” Spider-Babe says indignantly, “I will not _ lick _him. Why would you ask me to do that?”

Wade snickers, and Spidey turns up to him, jabbing at Wade’s shoulder with a bare hand, “Don’t you encourage him.”

“Licking is _ always _ fun Spidey,” Wade laughs lightly.

“You would think that,” Spidey sighed in faux dramatics, “You’re a perv. Besides, I think he wants me to taste you for eating purposes.”

Wade stops at a red light and presses that stupid pedestrian crossing button and waited for the light to change. There wasn’t a lot of pedestrian traffic this late at night, or very much regular traffic for that matter, but Wade didn’t want to risk hurting Spider-Man while he was practicing being a human backpack on Wade’s chest.

No, Wade just wants to covet him.

“You can eat me any day of the week,” Wade informed the hero, wiggling his eyebrow suggestively.

Spidey huffs, “You won’t be saying that when I bite a chunk out of your ear.”

Wade laughed, “You never know, maybe it’s one of my many, many kinks.”

“You must have been a real fan of Mike Tyson.”

“Every kink has an origin story, Baby boy.”

“Is your real name Evander Holyfield?”

“Wade Wilson, actually,” he says lightly, though he appreciates the name drop mid-conversation. That’s what he loves about Spidey, he’s just a plethora of strange, slightly out of date, pop references at unexpected times that somehow lighten a mood.

“You don’t say,” Spidey gasps in his ear.

“I do say.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “You must have had to change it after your match with Tyson.”

Their banter continues on for a few more blocks, both too distracted by their back and forth to listen to the voices in their head, Spidey not even giving a shit about anyone seeing him being carried, let alone being carried by a half-reformed ex-merc. The little thing acts and conversates with Wade as if there is nothing at all wrong with his position, as if he has every right to be there, to hold and be held by one of the most dangerous men on earth, who not even an hour ago had inadvertently almost mutilated the kid for life with his swords.

Wade is carrying them up a long flight of stairs before Spidey starts to take note of his surroundings.

He looks over his shoulder as Wade jogs up the steps, “Couldn’t’ve took the elevator?”

“It’s a shit neighborhood, Baby boy, we’re lucky we have running water. Elevators are a luxury they don’t afford.”

The little spider lays his cheek on Wade’s shoulder, “That sucks.”

He shrugs and turns down the hallway to the tenth and top floor. “It’s got the necessities, that’s all that matters. It’s not like I couldn’t afford a better place if I wanted it. I get a new one like every other week.”

“Why?” 

“I’m a paranoid schizophrenic Babyboy, I’m just trying to keep the voices quiet.”

Wade walks to his door and opens it without need to unlock it. The merc doesn’t really keep anything he can’t replace if stolen, so he doesn’t bother with locking anything but his gun safe, which is top of the line and needs a forklift move.

Peter is still digesting Deadpool’s comment when they are suddenly walking in a new an unlocked apartment.

Then, he has to digest the room, which is open floor plan between the living room and kitchen. It’s fairly clean but for a few dirty plates on the coffee table. All the furniture that Peter can see is well used and mismatched but not dirty or ugly. The whole place is strangely homey, as long as you ignored the huge gun safe the Tv was perched on instead of an entertainment center, which was covered in little heart stickers.

“It’s nice,” Peter comments as Wade carries him over to the kitchen, and reluctantly drops him into one of the barstools at the island opposite the stove.

Deadpool sighs and walks over the fridge, “Okay I’m going to make a literal mountain of pancakes and if you want some, you’re going to have to get them while my back is turned. Otherwise, I might bite your newly healed, little finger tips off in a territorial, alley-cat sort of way, mm-kay?” he pulls out eggs and milk and sets them out on the counter, “It’s ingrained, Baby-boy. Can’t be helped.”

Peter doesn’t believe him for one second, and smiles wide, “Whatever you say.”

Peter wakes up with freezing bare toes. He hears himself grunt a little in complaint. But when he tries to kick his blanket to cover his feet better, the whole thing gives up on being a blanket and just slides to the floor. “Son of a…” Peter grumbles and digs his feet under the couch cushions instead. There is a ton of shit under there, all kinds of crumbs and something very cold and metal.

What _ the fuck _ is that?

Unhappily, Peter flinches away and sits up on the couch he had been sleeping on.

In his sleepy confusion, he forgets his self-made regulation against snooping through Wade’s home and underneath the cushion his feet had tried to take shelter under, he finds an intimidating looking Desert Eagle and what is probably a whole box of bullets mixed in with lots and lots of crumbs. Gross.

Peter is a little confused by the presents of the gun in his house, but when he looks around and takes in the relative mess of pizza and Mexican food and all of Wade’s furniture, Peter settles. He always assumed Wade was the type to hide weapons all over his place, it was half the reason he didn’t allow himself to snoop. Some things are just left unknown. Besides, it’s not like Peter knows the first thing about guns other than the noise they make when they are shot at him, or the pain of them tearing through your skin when Peter doesn’t have the necessary room to dodge them.

Replacing the cushion, still sleepy and cold, Peter crawls down to the floor and to Wade who is snoring like a champ and is sprawled on his back, his head comfortable enough on a pile of empty pizza boxes. Peter deftly flings the runaway throw blanket over himself and a bit of the huge merc as he curls into his side, his head settling on a huge bicep.

Wade is soooooo warm.

He should quit his job and apply for the position of space heater.

Peter digs his toes under Wade’s calf and purrs with sleepy joy.

Wade flinches a bit, but when Peter cracks his eyes Wade’s eyes are sleepy and barely open too, not at all angry at Peter for stealing his body heat. He lets his eyes flutter shut and rolls on his side toward Peter with a soft grunt. “You cold sweetheart?” Wade slurs, and Peter feels a warmth swirling of from his gut as Wade grabs his waist and hauls Peter closer into his chest. Their legs tangle slightly, one of Peter’s knees slipping between Wade’s but it’s so warm and cozy that Peter slips the other in there too, his throat making an appreciative noise, coming out mostly like a hum. “Shoulda closed the damn window.” Wade grumbles absently, his voice deep and dark and sleepy. Peter’s throat makes another happy sound.

They settle just like that. Wade a wonderful heating blanket. Peter wrapped in the huge merc.

Peter is a second from deep sleep when the hand that hand been a solid, perfect weight on his waist shifts, making Peter feel like he’s falling.

He jolts awake but finds he hasn’t moved an inch.

Wade is still asleep all around him, obliviously scratching at his bare chin.

When he drops his arm back down on Peter’s waist, he pulls Peter impossibly closer, and if Peter’s body weren’t a complete bastard, his spider sense would have gone off just before Wade’s mouth kissed Peter’s.

It did not.

The kiss was chaste and closed lipped though, and Peter didn’t even have time to react before Wade pulled away grumbling, “So pretty,” and was asleep again.

Peter’s eyes felt larger than his head.

He also felt a little jipped.

He hadn’t even gotten to enjoy his first kiss.

Sighing, Peter relaxed back into Wade’s chest, slightly melancholy.

It is exactly Peter’s luck that Peter would have his first kiss with an unhinged, murderous ex-merc who only kissed him because he was asleep. It’s both heartbreakingly tragic that that is best Peter could do and _ inadvisable to do at home, kids _.

Worse things have been repeated though, Peter thinks.

But there was no way Wade was going to be asleep for the second one.

“DP,” Peter whispers, wriggling his warmed toes between Wade’s calves and touching Wade’s scared cheek with careful fingers.

Blue eyes blink open and Peter smiles, “Mornin’,” Wade says carefully, his eyes tracing over the half of Peter’s not covered his mask- rolled up so Peter could eat while they played video games and demolished a few billion pancakes. Wade looked a little confused at how Peter had gotten so close to him, but his hand was still tight on Peter’s hip, holding him in place. Peter felt himself bush as he felt Wade’s cock stiffing against his thigh- they were very close.

Rather than go about this in a normal human manner, Peter did it the good old fashion way, and Awkwarded himself into it and gave Wade absolutely no warning before he closed the gap between their mouths, just as Wade open his mouth to speak.

Peter only managed to press his mouth to Wade’s top lip, Wade making a truly shocked noise and then Peter’s face was _ on fire. _

Peter pulled away in a blink of an eye and buried his face and hands in Wade’s chest to hide. OH MY GOD, WHY I AM I LIKE THIS!

If Peter could have blinked himself out of existence, he would have. Or thrown himself into the fucking sun.

Wade starts laughing out loud.

Peter could die.

“DID- Did you just try to kiss me?” he laughs hysterically.

“You kissed me first!” Peter squawks back in horror. “It’s not my fault you were asleep! I just wanted a proper god damn kiss!!”

Wade stops laughing and shifts Peter’s shoulder away slightly, angling Peter’s chin so he looked Wade in the eye, his expression serious but almost sweet, “I kissed you in my sleep?”

Peter is a bit speechless at the vulnerability in the ex-merc’s eyes. He nods slightly, Wade’s hand still on his chin, the man’s thumb rubbing softly a soothing motion on his cheek.

“I kissed you and you wanted to do it again?”

“Of course I do, Wade,” Peter says, not understanding how Wade doesn’t already know how much Peter wants him.

Something soft and sad falls over Wade’s face, and Peter doesn’t understand that either.

“Do you not want to kiss me?” Peter feels himself ask meekly, he thinks it was supposed to sound different, but he doesn’t know how. Peter feels so lost. So uncertain.

“Of course I do, Webs,” Wade whispers, his eyes as beautiful as the deepest depths of the ocean. The kinds of things that just go on and on forever.

Peter reaches up to touch Wade’s face with his bare hand, “Then maybe you should.”

Wade lingers there for a second, torn between action and stillness, but then he leans forward and… and… and then…

The gentle smothering of Wade’s mouth on Peter’s is more consuming than anything Peter’s ever felt, his senses coming to him in bits and pieces. Wade’s mouth is hot and wet, slow and gentle, his tongue dancing in and out of Peter’s mouth like huge, rolling waves, crashing into him to steal Peter’s breath every time he tries to breathe in.

Peter has absolutely no idea what to do but suck lightly at Wade’s tongue and moan like he needs to do it to live, because he had expected maybe some sort of hostile takeover of his body but is receiving the most careful little touches from Wade. Little whisper of touches against his cheek, over the suit against his ribs, holding lightly to Peter’s hip.

In the next instant, Peter is flat on his back with a wall of Wade above him.

He can barely feel the cold air on his bare toes or the rest of the world around him. For all Peter can tell, the world is just Wade. His skin on Peter’s palms, his breath in Peter’s lungs, his body Peter’s cage.

When Wade pulls away, Peter is gasping and lightheaded.

Wade drops his head to Peter’s shoulder, “Oh my god,” he chokes, “The noises you make, baby boy. You’re going to make me cream my shorts with just your moans alone.”

With a strained chuckle, “I’m not so sure I haven’t.”

Wade laughs, but it’s soft and warm and makes Peter’s toes curl with affection, then Wade is placing gentle love bites on Peter’s neck and jaw, his blue eyes kind and caring as they gaze up at Peter.

Venom and Peter both preen under his watchful stare, purring languidly, caged safely in Wade’s arms and legs.

Absent of direction, Peter’s fingers message into the hard muscles of Wade’s shoulders and biceps.

Wade just keeps kissing. Up his neck, over his cheeks, around his jaw. His hands kneading into all the soft places of Peter’s sides, of his thighs. He feels so comfortable and cared for, he hardly notices when he drifts back to sleep.

Wade felt like he was disassociating from his body.

On the lists of things that were legit fake, this had to be on the top of it. Right above Ryan Renalds playing him in the movie of his life.

{For the last time, he did!}

[There were two of 'em.]

Lies. Pure lies.

Almost as fake as the thin, but ohmygodsohot, human currently asleep on Wade's bicep. 

Despite the weight of his head on Wade's arm and the solid muscle feel of him under the gentle graze of Wade's fingers, Wade couldn't believe this was actually happening to him. 

Tempting fate, Wade stroked a line over Legs' smooth jaw, the skin soft as heaven under the nightmare of Wade's calloused and scarred fingertips, and the little creature didn't dissipate from beside him like dust. Instead, a soft noise vibrated in Spidey's chest and it transferred through to Wade's side. 

He felt so real.

The imprint of Spideys' mouth still tingled on Wade's lips. His taste still lingered on Wade's tongue. And the soft moans and groans from afew minutes ago still clung to every fiber of Wade's being.

He could have been real. Wade wishes he were.

Wishes that the world was kind enough to trip Spidey into his arms and he'd like it. That he'd purr against Wade as he slept with contentment.

Wade curled his fingers in the soft, if sweaty, hair at the base of Spidey's head where his mask had ridden up just a tad, and rubbed his face against Spideys' begging silently to not be hallucinating. 

The knock at the door made Wade jump.

{Nooooo!} Yellow complained.

[Fucking dido. I was enjoying the angst.]

Groaning at how the boxes were going to be intolerable after this, Wade rolled away slowly then got to his feet.

The knocking got more insistent the longer he took and by the time he was swinging open the door Logan was halfway to walking away.

"WOLFIE!" Wade smiled and threw himself over Wolverine's shoulders, "Buddy o pal o mine. Where have you been my friend?"

Logan elbowed Wade off of him, "Shut up. And we have shit to so so grab a mask or something and we can go-" he looked over Wade's shoulder and Wade followed his eye line to Spidey. "Who the hell is that?"

Wade pursed his lips to keep his heart from falling out of his chest. "You can see him too?"

"Yes, I can see him, you idiot. Is that Spider-Man?"

{Huh, so he was real.}

[So you're telling me the real Spider-Man just hard core made out with us?-]

{This is the best day of my life!!}

Wade blinked back behind him and tried to quell the urge to both jump for joy and run screaming. He… he never thought Spidey could ever feel that way about him. Would ever want him in any way.

He was small and powerful and pretty. He was smart and funny and kind. He was all the good things. What in the _ name of god _ was he doing with Wade? Why would he ever…

Wade wanted to wrap Legs up and never let him go. 

"Numnuts," Logan snapped his fingers in front of Wade's face, "Forget that I asked and let's go. Rusty got himself into some trouble and they sent me to pick you up to settle it."

{Not our baby!} 

[Firefist is always getting into trouble.]

Wade wheels back into the apartment and rifles up as much of his shit as he can without waking Webs, then is out the door to help his almost adopted son-

{Adopted in spirit I think.}

Whatever, he needed help and Wade would do anything for him. That's what dads do.

Peter wakes up alone on the floor, Wade nowhere to be seen. And when Peter stretches out his senses to the rest of the apartment, even reaching to the rest of the building, he can’t sense Wade. Which- yeah- Peter gets.

He’d freak and take a run for it if some skinny kid with an Avenger for a dad had come on to him then passed out on his floor.

He pulls down his rolled-up mask before his bottom lip starts quivering. He has to preserve some dignity here.

His boots are still at the foot of the couch and Peter pulls them on as Karen greets him, “Good morning, Peter,” she sounds flat and considering.

Sighing Peter stands, and grabs his gloves off the coffee table, “Sup Karen, you have any idea when Wade took off?”

“Roughly an hour, Peter,” she says curtly, “A guest came to the door and he stepped out into the hall to speak with them before coming back in for his equipment and leaving with the guest.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter sighed and picked up the blanket, folding it and setting it back on the couch. He also went around picking up all the take-out boxes, taking them to the kitchen trash, leaving the pizza boxes on the counter because there is no way they’re going to fit in the bin.

He finds a notepad on the fridge and a bunch of loose crayons in mixed in with the flatware, so Peter leaves a note. ‘_ Catch you later _.’ With a little doodle of a Deadpool caught in a spider’s web.

He can hear amusement in Karen’s voice as he steps away from it, “Very nice, Peter.”

Smiling weakly to himself, Peter makes his way to the window and crawls onto the sill, glancing over his shoulder to the empty apartment. He wishes he didn’t feel so lonely all of a sudden. Especially when he can’t explain exactly why.

Maybe it was the vulnerability he had seen in Wade’s eyes. He’d felt the same way on his chest. Like there was a hole in Peter’s sternum and Wade’s fingers where digging through the muscle to touch a soft, warm center of Peter’s being. Something brighter and more surreal than his heart.

It was hard to describe how soft Peter felt right now, how human he felt.

Never in his life could Peter pinpoint a time and place where he had wanted more than he does right now, and he still doesn’t even know what he wants exactly, just that it has something to do with Wade. Maybe a kiss goodbye, maybe just a whisper of … _ something _.

Peter crawls out to the side of the building and uses his sticky fingers to close the window, though he can’t exactly lock it, but if a robber can really get in through this window, the flimsy lock isn’t going to stop them all that much.

Launching himself backward, Peter throws out a web, swinging away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, if you are still here, you deserve a cookie.
> 
> My job is garbage but at least I have you. <3

_ I never asked for this, but it’s mine. _

_ I never asked to be born. To be born again. _

_ To do the things that I can do. _

  
  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  
  


Ned notices Peter stomping around his room last minute, barely out of his Spider Suit and in school clothes before they are crashing into each other in the hall.

“Dude, where you out all night?” he whispers loudly as they stumble down the stairs together.

“I… yeah?” Peter admits, grabbing his skateboard. “Slept a friend’s house.”

“Not Starks’?”

“Not Starks’.”

“Another Superhero?!”

“Ned!” Peter growls stepping out the door, adjusting his jacket hood, “Keep it down.”

A voice calls from behind him, “Hey Pete!” 

Peter nearly goes cold, his heart feeling too heavy for his chest.

“Yes,” Ned cheers as he jumps down the stairs, and Peter turns reluctantly on his heel. 

Harry is in one of his dad’s convertibles, looking at him with the kind of millawatt smile Peter’s sure would have been irresistible in any other circumstance.

Harry’s smile fades at the look on Peter’s face.

Peter couldn’t have told you how he looked, but if it was anything like the fear and panic in his chest, then it wasn’t good. 

“Pete?” Harry whispered and it should have been to quiet to hear, too sad to exist, and Peter’s heart broke all over again. 

With his board and backpack in hand, Peter tiptoed to the car.

Harry held his eye and Peter had to take a breath, and asked a question that needed answering, “Why did you and MJ break up?” 

The importance of the question bloomed on Harry’s face, the dark haired boy swallowed hard, “Pete-”

“Why?” Peter pressed, knowing the answer: Harry was trying to protect her from his superhero life.

The dark haired teen turned off the engine to his father’s car and bowed his head, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel, “Peter please… Why can’t things just go back to normal? Ever since- ever since MJ you’ve been avoiding me. You’re my bestfriend-”

Voice soft and kind, “why?”

Harry didn’t look up, “Because- Because I love her.”

Ned tried to catch Peter’s eye but Peter kept his eyes on Harry. “Then why leave?”

Harry looked up and there was a determination in his eyes. “Because I’m_ in _ love with someone else.”

Wait- What?!

Peter’s spider sense exploded in his head but he was too slow to out maneuver Harry as he lunged out of his seat toward Peter, catching Peter’s arm and pulling him close and crashing their mouths together in a one sided kiss.

Harry’s mouth was uncomfortably wet and so, SO wrong to Peter’s screaming senses.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin, or maybe that was Venom.

Peter jerked back in panic, tripping over himself and landing flat on his ass, his skateboard slipping out of his hand. Clattering to his side.

For one horrible second, Peter feared his throat had closed up. He tried to breath in through his nose but couldn’t, and when he opened his mouth, he could taste Harry on his lips. And it felt wrongWrongWRONG.

Peter was breathless. “Harry, I don’t- You’re like my brother-”

“Peter,” Karen whispered in his ear, “You are having a panic attack, try to remain calm. Try to breath.”

Harry was his best friend… his brother… not- not whatever _ that _ was.

Peter’s spider sense went off again and Peter looks up, and Harry looks pale and hurt. “I know you don’t feel that way for me, I just- I wanted you to know-”

Peter spares a glance to Ned, who is looking at Harry wide eyed and ready to burst- in fact he does, “OH MY GOD HARRY! You’re super too! OHMYGODOHMYGOD! You moved so fast! This is so cool! I can’t believe I lucked out and got two super friends, I need to buy a lottery ticket or something-”

“Ned!” Peter hisses at the same time Harry asks, “Two?”

“Oh no,” Karen reacts in Peter’s ear.

Harry’s eyes snap back to Peter and awful realization crosses his face. “You’re a-”

“Stop!” Peter cries in panic, but the truth of Harry’s realization isn’t held back, he looks at Peter with new eyes. Why is this so hard to handle?

Why did Harry kiss him?

“I’m sorry!” Ned cries with distress on his face and though Peter has always figured Ned would spill the beans at some point, Venom snaps.

“_ Stupid boy! How dare he?! It was not his to share! Especially to the boy who is not Wade. Only wade should know both identities!” _

Rubbing at his temple, Peter grabs up his skate board and backpack and catches his friend’s eyes.

“You’re a Superhero aren’t you,” Harry asks as he sits back in his seat. “Jesus Christ, are you… Spider-Man?”

Peter doesn’t know what to say, but his no answer is more than enough to solidify it in Harry’s mind.

“I’m soo sorry,” Ned repeats, and Venom hisses in Peter’s chest. 

But Peter just shakes his head and steps away from the car, “I know.” Harry looks up at him, “I’m sorry, too,” then he turns tail and runs away, leaving a silent Harry and Ned to fend for themselves.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Wade found Weds exactly the opposite of where he expected to find him, lost in his thoughts on some glass monstrosity brooding into the afternoon light in the middle of Manhattan, Blindy had queued Wade over after Wades long ass morning. 

The thin, masked man had decided to mix it up a bit though because his mask was half pushed up and he was munching on a cherro as he watched the city all around him.

Taking his time on the opposite side of the roof, Wade watches and lets Spidey’s silhouette speak for itself. The young hero was tense, but tired. His shoulders tight as he leaned back on his elbows, but his legs spilled over the roof’s flat edge.

Despite the Mexican dessert in the vigilante’s hand, Webs looks…

So many things.

{Sexy.} True.

[Troubled.] Also true.

{He’s long lines and sweeping edges.}

[I feel like I’ve seen that before.]

{Right?}

Webs tilted his head just a little, his masked face just barely tilting toward Wade. 

And Wade’s breath caught, his eyes once again tracing down the stretch of Spidey’s thin body. The thin, dexterous lines of him hugged precisely by his suit, not belaying or betraying the raw power hidden in Spidey’s tiny little frame.

But that’s the nature of Wade’s little spider friend.

Webs was a wall of muscle hidden behind a fancy suit, a seemingly fragile frame, a ton of bad jokes, an ass that could kill a man, and this potential of being so kind and understanding that Wade almost couldn’t believe it. Everyone hates Wade -{Even Wade hates Wade.}- but Spidey… doesn’t?

Wade think he doesn’t.

Spidey smiles at him like no one else. He means it.

But that smile doesn’t turn Wades way when Spidey turns over his shoulder.

No he frowns and stands, sending his cherro to the roof as he does. Looking smaller than believable when he looks up from his feet, “Wade?”

“Baby boy?”

“Can I hug you?” he asks softly.

“Of course.”

“But this morning… you left-”

Shit. “I know I did, But I could use a hug now, Babyboy.”

Spidey looks up just long enough to pounce -honest to god, _ pounce _\- at Wade. His baby boy’s arms wrapped around his neck and his legs around Wade’s waist, his face cuddling into Wade’s neck with an almost kitten like purring sounding from his mouth.

Yellow starts screaming, {TOUCH HIM!! TOUCH HIM!!} And Wade can’t not. His arm wraps around Spider-Man’s waist as his other hand clutches at Spidey’s thigh, and Spidey’s purr intensifies, rumbles against Wade’s chest, shivers up Wade’s spine. 

Wade’s heart felt feather light.

He has no idea how he could ever deserve this –{Don’t you dare jinks it, Asshat!}- but both Wade and Yellow were happy for the deviation from reality, because that is what it feels like.

There were countless examples of people out right denying Wade as soon as he shows them his face. These people didn’t even have to be romantic interests, he’d scared clients and colleagues -hell, even friends- away just by taking off the mask. In a way, that’s why he’d taken his mask off so often, he’s been trying to scare Spidey away.

{He wants the Deeeee~!} Yellow sang in delight.

Spider-Man – the hero of Queens on a good day, and a hero of New York slash the world on bad days- was attracted to Wade Wilson slash Deadpool slash a known killer slash the biggest fuck up, loud mouth on Earth.

[He’s supposed to be a spider, not a cat. The least he can do is maintain his shtick.]

{Spider-Man _ is _ a spider. Maybe under the mask though, his alter ego is a cat man.}

[No.]

{I hope he has fur.}

[Please, no.]

“And a tail,” Wade snickered softly.

[Don’t encourage him!]

“Textured tongue.”

{And whiskers!!}

[I hate you both.]

{Yah! For the furry kink.}

Wade snickered again as White quietly simmered and caught Spider-Babe mumbling under his breath too,“Thank you.”

Wade ran a both gloved hands up Spidey’s back that seemed so small under the span of his fingers, and felt the little bundle of muscle and spandex shiver then go limp against him, a half moan, half sigh brushing against Wade’s suit. Loving that reaction, Wade pressed a little firmer as he stroked back down Spidey’s back, stopping his hand on the little things lower back, not wanting to cross any lines, least he scare away the little thing, least he scare himself away.

God, he was so scared already.

Afraid of how Spidey touches Wade like he’s touching something he could almost break because he wants it so bad.

Of how he could melt against Wade like the merc couldn’t kill him so easily with him like that.

Of how the little thing seemed to seek Wade out for comfort and affection, like he doesn’t get those things anywhere else.

Of how much Wade already cares for the little thing.

Of how much he wants him.

Of how much of Wade’s day is consumed by all the speculation on Spider-Man, about what the little thing looks like under the mask, about what eye color could be paired with the perfectly pink lips. He wonders what Spidey does for a day job, what he looks like first thing in the morning...

Wade’s scared of how much he wants Spidey just as things are. As torturous as it is. 

It’s gratifying in the sense that Wade is absolutely touch starved, and absolutely wants to touch someone else, but terrifying.

Wade realized somewhere into his angsting, his penis had taken a half interest to the vibrating mass curled around him, and Wade realized that if Spidey hadn’t already noticed the bulge nudging his thigh, that trying to push Spidey away would inevitably draw attention to this development.

[Move away.] White advised. [He’s a dude, he’ll understand. Sometimes you can’t control these things-]

{No, Stay!} Yellow urged. {Stay-stay-stay-stay-stay!}

[No, he should-]

{Hump that huge thing against Spider-Man!}

Wade busted up laughing at Yellows enthusiasm, unfortunately disturbing Spidey’s purring and turning the hero’s attention up to Wade’s masked face.

“What did they say?” Spidey asks, softly with a smile hidden under the mask, “They never make you laugh.” Which wasn’t necessarily true, but Spidey was a subject of strict debate, White trying to refuse his affection at every turn. But Spidey had never asked before what Wade heard in his head, just as Wade had never asked what Spider-Man heard. Somethings should be private- some things were meant to be suffered alone.

Wade had always suffered this alone. He was a bit speechless-

[For once.]

“Hey!” Wade snapped at White but his Babyboy brought him back to him by reaching up to cup Wade’s masked cheek with one hand as the other curled under Wade's jaw to pull up the mask.

  
  
  
  
  


Wade’s gloved hands stroked a soothing line up and down Peter’s sides.

The merc’s mask hard to read, so he followed through with pulling it off..

Scarred features and soft eyes watched Peter closely. Like Peter might run. Like he’d been the one to run in the first place.

Peter slid his hands up the textured length of Wade’s neck, to cup the merc’s face in one hand as the other traced softly over the rough scars on the back of the man’s head. 

“You left,” Peter whispers, hurt etching into his very being, his vision blurred with hurt tears. 

“You’d run too if you were me. You’re a good person and I’m-”

“Getting better.” Peter finished for him.

Wade looked at Peter's shoulder to avoid eye contact, “I think I might be. I’m sorry for leaving, had some _ business _ to do, ya know?”

He nodded, relieved.

He had feared Wade would just leave him here, and he was so, so relieved the merc didn’t. He was so, so relieved that the merc’s huge body was wrapped around him so he couldn’t run away either. He wasn’t sure he would if he could, but he’s glad it isn’t an option.

He’s happy, at least for now, that Wade doesn’t want him to go. Doesn’t want to go.

So, Peter rolls up his mask and leans up to kiss the merc, to just enjoy the soft press of their mouths unobstructed. Wade kisses back just as languidly. His mouth a hot but soft kind curve against Peter’s. It felt wonderful when Peter nipped at his bottom lip or licked shily into the merc’s mouth to taste his tongue.

A huge, gloved hand buried itself in Peter’s hair just inside the back of the mask, while the other wrapped under Peter to grope at Peter’s ass.

“Your ass is perfect, Baby boy,” Wade groaned, making Peter blush violently, his voice deep and dark and rough and sweet as fuck against Peter’s mouth.

A little whine worked up Peter’s throat at Wade.

Wade smiled and kissed Peter again, kissed him slow and long and deep.

Peter felt so safe inside the merc arm’s, felt wanted and needed and so unalone with Wade there. He felt so special for Wade, _ because _ of Wade.

Peter wanted to be special for him.

“_ Wade _,” Peter gasped, his back arching and hands digging into Wade’s back probably painfully, but Wade just kissed at Peter’s cheeks and slid Peter’s hands to his shoulders as he shifted his hips, painful but slow against Peter.

Holy mother of hell.

“So perfect,” he whispered, “You’re so perfect Baby boy. You’re so good for me. You’re skin’s so smooth, so warm.” He moaned against Peter’s mouth and Peter gasped.

“Wade, stop!” Peter jerked back, dropping his head to Wade’s shoulder to catch his breath.

Tears trickled from the corner of his eyes, his dick painfully sensitive in side his cup, but the rest of him absolutely ringing with pleasure. 

“You make such pretty noises, Baby boy. But we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want,” Wade huffed between pants, he sounded just as worked up as Peter.

Peter could nearly feel his blood pressure drop like a stone. 

“I’m… not ready for all that,” he confessed.

Wade nodded against his bowed head. “We don’t ever have to do it if you don’t-”

Peter shook his head, “Not never.” He turned his head toward Wade’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse, “Just not yet.”

“Okay,” Wade whispered and rubbed a soothing had up his back, Venom purred as happily as Peter felt.

“Such a beautiful little purr, Baby,” Wade smiled against Peter’s mouth.

Venom, and inexplicably _ Peter _, absolutely preened at the complement.

“_ Wade _,” he smiled.

“You’re so perfect Baby boy. The best thing in all the world.”

Peter kissed open mouth against Wade’s.

Wade made him feel understood, _ loved _.

Wade kissed his cheek and leaned down to his ear, “I’ll _ never _ let you go,” Wade growled possessively and in so many ways it should have terrified, it didn’t happen. “You’re mine, Baby boy. My perfect little thing.” He pulled away when they needed to breathe. “How about I show you something neat.”

“Something _ neat? _” Peter huffed.

“Yeah, but we need food first.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Wade is still in the same apartment. So after stopping for Mexican, Peter swing them back and to his livingroom window.

However, there is someone in the apartment. A chubby dark haired teen, drinking a beer.

Deadpool pounced through the window screaming, “God Dammit!” he rips the beer out of the teen’s hand, sloshing beer all over the rug.

The teen looks absolutely terrified, “What the fuck!?” he screams in an Australian accent.

Without looking, Wade holds the nearly empty beer can out to Peter, who takes it immediately, letting the bags in his hand slip to the hardwood under the windowsill.

“What the holy mother of hell am I supposed to do with you, Rusty?” Wade growls tugging the teen up from the couch by an ear, “You get suspended from The Old Man’s Weirdo Kid School. You drink my beer. You’re fucking cursing up a mother fucking storm-“

“Waaaade-“ the kids whines and Peter is startled to realize how petulant the kid sounds. He’s not scared anymore. Just annoyed. “It’s not fair. You can’t leave me here all alone all day and expect me not to fucking want to wind down.”

The ex-merc finally releases the teen’s ear and he rubs it, offended, as Deadpool put his knuckles on his hips, taking a total ‘Mom is Disappointed’ pose. The teen’s eyes flick over finally to Peter and he turns back to Deadpool unhappily, “You’re bringing home strays?”

Peter and Wade make matching offended noises. Peter has to stop himself before he crushes the can on his hand, though it does crinkle a bit.

“He’s not a _ cat _,” Wade hisses, “He’s Spider-Man, have some respect.”

“Yeah! Have some respect.” Peter adds unhelpfully but smiles when he sees Wades shoulders unclench a little.

Rusty snorts with narrowed eyes, “Is he your new son? Picking up a better kid since this one is defective?” the question is asked with anger and the threat of malice in his voice, but Peter can see the vulnerability under the kid’s furrowed brow, dark eyes shining with tears.

Wade seems to dissolve in the face of it, his anger dissipating.

He pulls the kid into a soft hug. “Not at all kid. You’re the only non-biological offspring I need in my life. Spidey’s fittin’ to be Mr. Mom, not my son.” Wade coos softly, letting the teen sniffle a bit into his shoulder.

Peter bites his tongue to silence himself. “Mr. Mom?” he grumbles despite it.

He clinks the beer can down with the other emptied ones on the coffee table and flops into the couch, letting himself stare out the window to give some semblance of privacy to the sniffling pair in the room.

It’s weird thinking about Wade as anyone’s caretaker, but... it makes sense. Wade is very nurturing despite his homicidal, gun and knife clad exterior.

Wade has a fucking father of two with a wife at home kind of heart, no matter how lonely and disjointed the rest of him is. It makes sense he would pick up some strays on his way to hero-hood.

Sniffling disgustingly, Wade pulls away from the teen and goes over to the Mexican food boxes abandoned on the floor. “Don’t let that little display there fool you, Chub-o,” Wade says lightly over his shoulder, though he hardens his voice to say, “You’re still grounded.”

“But Wade-“

Deadpool pick up the bags and points to the chair, “Sit your ass down and let me feed you tacos or I’m taking the X-box and giving it to the poor Chinese kids down stairs.”

Rusty plops down in the chair with a frown, “You already gave them my Playstaton, what use do they have with your shity x-box?”

“You heathen,” Wade gasps though he hands over the box of tacos he’d ordered without cheese or sour cream, and it all comes into focus for Peter.

He asked Wade why he had left, and Wade hadn’t been able to tell him.

But.

He could show him.

Wade takes the seat right beside Peter despite there being a whole couch’s worth of room, but Peter doesn’t mind, he just snatches the box of rice from Wade’s hand and a plastic fork from the bag. Rolling up his mask enough to eat, he turns to the kid, “What you do to get suspended for?”

The teen’s attention turns on Peter from where he had been scrolling through the Netflix directory half munching on a dairy-less taco. He smirks a little and goes back to scanning through the list of movies and shows, “Wouldn’t you like to know-“

“He got caught banging someone in a public bathroom during school hours,” Wade growls out disapprovingly, and Peter nearly spits rice out his nose.

“You’re not upset I was getting laid-“

“You should learn to be more sneaky!” Wade hissed, “What’s the point of going to school in the Not-As-Secret-As-They-Think but still Secret-Super-School if you don’t even learn how to be Super sneaky?”

“Oh,” Peter asks with an easy smile “You’re going to Xavier’s School for Gifted Minds?”

“Okay,” Wade says flatly, “Maybe you did learn how to be sneaky from them if everyone knows about it.”

Rusty and Peter both snort with laughter. Wade smiles despite his irritation.

Peter relaxes into Wade’s side casually, shifting through his rice and trying to stifle his comfort even as a complete stranger flips through Netflix not more than a handful of feet away. If Wade trusts him, so does Peter. It’s kinda shockingly simple.

After a while, Rusty settles on something remotely actiony and halfway through it, Peter loses interest. He can’t help but watch the shaky cam action parts and notice every tactical error in hand to hand combat he sees.

Peter is in no way an expert, but he knows enough to see the errors in what he’s seeing. Luckily, Wade lost interest like ten seconds in, only looking up from his game of Flappy Bird when the actions scenes end and the melodramas in-between play out. He’s way too into the main actor’s love life, but Peter is distracted at how Wade still manages to give a hundred and ten percent attention to the TV and simultaneously carry on poking at his screen perfectly to keep playing his game without losing.

“How are you so good at this?” Peter mumbles in bit in horror and a bit in fascination.

“Baby boy,” he laughs softly under the rain of gunfire onscreen, “I’ve been practicing since the beginning of time. I am the God of Flappy Bird.”

Smiling faintly, Peter asks, “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Wade leans his head over to rest on top of Peter’s masked head, “I can’t get both feet behind my head unless they’re no longer attached to my body.

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks burn red at the mental image of Wade with his ankles behind his head, even if he admits he can’t actually do it. Peter tries not to think of himself in that position because Peter is more than flexible enough to do such a thing.

Rusty groans from his chair, “You guys are so gross.”

Peter laughs picking up his rice he had abandoned on the coffee table, though it’s mostly gone.

“How do you like Xavier’s?” Peter asks, trying to not be weird.

Rusty look unamused, “It’s fine. What’s it to you?”

“I have a friend who’s going there,” Peter says lightly.

Rusty looks a little incredulous, “You know a high school student?”

If only he knew Peter _ is currently _ a high school student.

“He’s from my hometown of NYC,” Peter says off handedly, “Plus, he’s kinda has a knack for showmanship. He’s hard to miss-“

“Ohmygod,” Rusty groans, his face turning bright red, sinking into his seat unhappily, hissing, “You know _ Johnny _.”

“_ Johnny Storm _!!!?? The literal Human Torch?!!” Wade looks starstruck, throwing himself over Peter lap, spraying Peter’s rice all over the arm of the couch.

“DP!” Peter snorts as he pushes Wade to the floor. God, help him, Wade is ridiculous.

“You have to introduce me to the Fantastic Four!!” Wade crows, crawling back into Peter’s lap, mashing his face into Peter stomach, “I have so many jokes about Mr. Fantastic and his penis, Baby Boy! So many!”

Peter’s laughing hard at the manic look in Wade’s eyes, and Wade’s fingers digging slightly into Peter’s ticklish spot on his ribs. “Get- Get off!” Peter tries to say through his cries but Wade is a hard man to move.

“I’ll be good!” Wade promises quickly. “No killing, ever! Not even if they deserve it. I’ll go on patrols with you every night, not just the ones were I feel like wearing pants-“

“You have to wear pants on patrols, Wade!” Peter complains but is steam rolled.

“You couldn’t go whole a day without killing anyone,” Rusty frowns in his chair, “If you don’t do it Deadpool,” Rusty says urgently, leaning forward him the lazy boy, “Who will?”

The room goes dead silent. The air warming up uncomfortably, and Peter thinks he can smell smoke lofting off the teen’s balled fists.

Peter looks down at Wade who is resting his forehead against Peter’s thigh, his arms loosely framing his legs.

He looks heavy.

Like he’s not ready for this conversation, though it’s definitely happened before. He can see the weight of this fight written over Wade’s tense shoulders.

Wade’s eyes are wet when he tilts his head over to look at Rusty, “I haven’t killed since Shield, Rust. I can be a hero.” Wade says hoarsely. “_ I can _.”

Rusty’s nostrils flare, but tears shine in his eyes too, “Just because you want me to be a good guy, doesn’t mean you have to. Bad people deserve to die, Wade. The people who hurt me, deserved it, and the people out there hurting others deserve it too.”

Peter glups hard.

“You don’t _ have _to be a hero. If he cares about you”, he points accusingly at Peter, “he wouldn’t care if you saved people with blood or not,” Rusty pressed. “If Shield said you could or not.”

Venom stirs behind Peter’s eyes, but he’s silent.

Peter knows he has no place in this argument.

Peter’s coming to accept Wade. All of him. For worse or better.

Peter doesn’t need to give up anything about himself to accept Wade heart and soul.

He was tainted the second he put on a suit. The second he let himself feel what it’s like to hold a life in his hand, and had a mask to hide what he did with that power…

Peter was ruined to the responsibility of it.

Letting out what feels like all the breath he has, Peter sighed and rests a hand on Deadpool’s shoulder.

He wants to dig his fingers into his own chest and scoop out his heart.

“Whether you want to accept it or not, Rust. I’m changing. I’m working with shield, I’m not murdering to keep the voices quiet, I’m finding a way to entertain them with the job. I’m working on it. We can be Heroes.”

“We?”Rusty looks at Wade disapprovingly, but there is a glint of hope in his eyes, that Peter feels hurt every inch of him. “I’m not a hero.”

“But we could be.”

Rusty makes an uncertain face and turns back to his food, watching the movie that had played while they argued. Wade moves back to his spot on the couch and Peter tries to brush as much of the rice back into the container as he could- it almost seemed futile in the face of Wade, the man was just messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blahblahblah sorry about typos Blahblahblah I love you with all my heart Blahblahblah Hoped you enjoyed!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start off by saying I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I have a list of excuses but it all boils down to writer's block, if I'm honest. But here we go again, let's keep moving forward.

_ We’re all living on the time we borrowed. _

_ Still going on our last hit for the road. _

_ We’re living with our eyes closed and hands over our ears _

_ hoping Armageddon finally sinks its teeth in. _

_ We’re all waitin’ for the end. _

_ Waitin’ to die. _

  
  
  


~~~~.~~~~

  
  
  


Webs ended up falling asleep on Wade’s shoulder- {It was so cute. You should have been there.} 

and Wade doesn't mind, even when Rusty gives him an exasperated look when the movie ends. But Wade is all caught up in the feel of Legs' bare hand in his. 

Rusty sighs over dramatically.

"What now?" He huffs.

Rusty twitches nose but he surprises Wade, "Why are you so quiet? It's weird."

"Quiet?"

"Yeah, quiet. You usually whisper to the boxes. Are you pretending to be normal for him?"

Wade chuckles, "Like I could even skirt normal. No. I'm not. They're just busy talking about you and Baby boy here. I already know how great you two are."

Rusty goes red and turns away, "Shut up."

"I luuuurve~ you, Rusty~" he sings. "And there's nothing you can do about it~"

Rusty turns redder but mutters, "_ Loveyou-whatever _."

Wade leans into Spidey, proud of himself.

"You really like him huh?" Rusty glances over. "You're all puppy doggy."

"Puppy doggy?"

"You know, cuddly."

Wade smiles to himself, "Yeah, I like him a lot."

Rusty gets up, "Gross." Then he's disappearing into his room.

Wade looks over at Legs and doesn't have the heart to wake him, so he tried to wiggle free but Webs latched onto him like a baby koala and Wade accepted his fate as eternal pillow. Not that he minded, mind you. No, Spidey was a sweet, little kitten that purred and everything.

[I hate to verify the cuteness, but yeah. He is though.]

{Aaaaa, I love when we all get along and agree.}

[No, you don’t.]

{Welp, there goes that moment of peace.}

[You’re a fucking bit-]

Wade crashes out on the couch next to Spidey.

  
  
  
  
  


Peter didn't wake up alone. Not that he expected to, but Wade was warm beside him even if the ex-merc was caught trying to sneak away.

Peter grumbled as unhappily as he was incoherent with his face buried in Wade's shoulder.

Wade dropped his head into Peter's shoulder "Sorry Babyboy, Shield called and they need my help. I gotta go stop bad guys." 

Peter couldn't really argue with his leaving after that, he watched Wade gather up his gear and made sure to wake up enough to kiss Wade before he left which Rusty walked in on and all but imploded with embarrassment. 

"Get a room!" 

"This is my house! My living room, you cretin!"

Should Peter have gone home after Wade left? Probably. 

Did he, though? 

No.

No, he did not.

"Pass me that wrench will ya?" Tony garbled around almost half a cup of black coffee, his hair wild and face pale with lack of sleep.

Peter considered calling Pepper back from her meeting to put Tony to bed but the man was on a mission.

He passed the wrench and went back to working on a modification for Tony’s suit, trying to work out how to get more flex in the elbow without risking protection. Tony on the other hand was working on a Cathuri weapon.

With some time to think about it, Peter was starting to realize _ maybe _ he’d been a little melodramatic about the whole Harry situation. It wasn’t like he hadn’t accepted Michelle’s power in the course of like a minute, but it was scarier to think someone like Harry, someone Peter thought he knew completely, would feel the need to put on a suit, to be broken enough to need it like Peter. 

As for Ned’s blabing about him being Spider-Man? Maybe should have seen it coming. Hell, Peter _ did _ see it coming. Someone was bound to overhear him eventually… 

“You’ve been quiet this morning. What’s up, kid,” Tony asked off-handedly.

“It’s just big think time,” Peter said with a smirk. “You’re not the only one who-” Peter’s spider sense had Peter tackling Tony out of his seat on his stool. The both of them crashing to the floor with Peter covering Tony an instant before the weapon Tony had been working on exploded with a lasery smoke and fire that just barely missed them.

For one scary instant, everything goes dark.

Peter wakes up with Tony shaking him and shouting his name, but there is a very loud Jarvis trying to get Tony’s attention, as Dum-E tries to but on the fire on Tony’s worktable.

“Sir,” Jarvis sounds genuinely upset, “There is a portal opening up above the tower, Cathuri are on their way. Your assistance is required. The Avengers are assembling.”

Peter looks up at his mentor and finds both relief and fear.

“Tony-” Peter says calmly, “We have to go. Suit up.” Peter tries to stagger to his feet but Tony grabs his hand.

“Kid, your were just unconscious you shouldn’t be-”

“We don’t have time to worry about that. We have bad guys to stop.”

Peter finally pulls away and Tony finally seems to find himself, summoning his suit as Peter dodges out the shattered glass wall of the lab to take the stairs upward.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The sky shimmered as the sun peaked out over the spiked skyline, glinting off the glass and rainbowing a varying spray of blues, yellows, oranges, and pinks on the clouds.

It was a beautiful sight.

Peter groaned miserably.

“Fuck,” Clint hissed as he wrapped another one of Peter’s many wounds in haphazard gauze.

As it was, Clint was the least injured of them, and he was _ covered _ in bandages and bruises. Sure, some of those he had started with, but he was hardly in any shape to be playing field nurse. But everyone else was either keeping back pissed off alien hoards or waiting for the sloppiest field aid Peter has ever seen.

Harry hadn't stayed away. In fact he was a little banged up but holding his own a few feet away, throwing overturned cars at any alien who got too close to Peter and his friends.

It was kinda of impressive, and somehow enduring. 

But- Clint touches something tender on Peter's stomach and Venom screams in agony.

Peter used his good leg to kick to kick Clint away, “Go help Daredevil,” his breath hitches as Clint tapes down the edge of his makeshift bandage, “He doesn’t have a healing factor. I do. _ Leave. Me. Alone _.”

“Goddammit,” Clint growls slapping at Peter ankle, “You’re going to bleed out- Stop- Stop kicking me!!”

Wade walks over sans one of his arms. “You heard the Spider,” He says pushing Clint away much more kindly than Peter would have given him credit for. “Go help the less likely to heal within the hour.”

Clint frowns but hands Wade the roll of gauze, “At least wrap up his stomach, I think I see him oozing something black.”

Peter can feel Venom working with his healing factor to heal some internal bleeding. He’s not so sure how extensive the damage is with his adrenaline still running so high, but he’s been loopy for over an hour from blood loss.

“Ew,” Michelle, AKA Spider- girl, gags from her face first sprawl on the rooftop.

Peter takes of his boot at throws it at her, it bounces off her leg . “No! You don’t get to ‘Ew’ me after you spit on me earlier!”

“I lost a tooth, man. There was blood in my mouth!” she pouts, rubbing her leg as she pitifully pulls herself into a ball, “Plus, you just came out of nowhere.”

“Look out for flying spiders,” Wade smirked as he sat between them.

“_ Where _ is Luke Cage?” Clint yelled from somewhere behind where Peter was strewn by some crates, barely sitting up against one.

“He left,” Jessica Jones hissed nasally around the balled up scarf she was using to stop the bleeding on her busted lip and gushing bloody nose.

“H-He left?” Clint sounded hysterical. “He was unconscious a minute ago! How-Why did you let him leave?”

Jessica laughed sarcastically, “How was I supposed to stop him with a busted ankle and a dislocated arm? Was I supposed to use my hair as a lasso? My hair ain’t that long _ Buddy _.”

Clint made a horrified noise, “Where do you think you’re going, Daredevil?!”

“I’m fine,” Peter heard Matt slur and then a bit of scuffling that ended with a loud thud and Clint growling, “That’s what you get for being an idiot and making me cry.”

Michelle started groaning loudly, “Can’t we all just get along?”

“Yeah, let’s all start singing Kumbaya,” Jessica suggested flatly an ominous explosion in the distance punctuating her sentence.

“I don’t like being spit on ” Peter pouted unhappily, resting his head on Wade’s thigh. Karen made a disapproving noise in his ear. “Don’t you sass me Karen,” Peter growled wiggling his freezing and exposed toes, “I’m allowed to be salty a those who spit on me.”

“You tell her,” Wade laughs easily as he checks the unbandaged, visible scrapes and cuts on Peter’s arms through the tears in his suit.

He turned his tired eyes up at Wade, frowning sadly at the wound where his arm used to be. “None of that worrying, Webs,” Wade admonished sweetly as he pried thin fingers away from the slash across lower torso. “It’ll grow back.”

“Sonofabitch!” Peter heard Matt yelling from across the rooftop to whatever medical aid Clint was instilling.

Peter turned his nose and buried it into Wade’s blood-soaked stomach. It felt warm and safe despite the wetness, so he gave no shits about how unsanitary it was.

Wade’s fingers were gentle as he peeled back the suit from his skin to eye the wound on his stomach, “Jesusfuck,” he gasped. “My poor Spidey-Baby,” He cooed, “All torn up and bleeding internally.”

His fingers grazed the open wound and Peter barked out in pain, “Wade!”

“Sh sh sh,” Wade stroked at the back of Peter’s head, “I’m done touching it, it’s closing up right now away way.” Peter whimpered pathetically, feeling his flesh tugging at itself as it pulled tight, starting to knit the flesh back together.

Venom really was a god sent. Peter’s healing factor kicked ass before, but now? Jesus Christ. He was willing to bet a million if he got fed up right, he’d be walking around tomorrow like nothing ever happened.

Wade continued to coo and stroke at Peter’s back and cheek through the mask long after the wound had finally scabbed itself over, and Peter had finally started to drift off into a half-sleep as his adrenaline wore off. After a while of Wade’s petting, Peter felt Venom start a soft purr as he worked on healing. Wade hummed a content sound.

Clint staggered over, slumping down at Peter’s knee, “Daredevil’s kind of delirious and I can't find Luke Cage, but we got a fifth or sixth wave of Cathuri coming in.”

Peter staggers up and Wade follows, Harry materializes at Peter’s side just before his legs buckle but it is Wade who catches him.

“Sorry to make you swoon,” Wade teases, but Harry looks aggravated, not that Peter wants to deal with that, he wants Harry to go home. Or at least somewhere safe. 

“Pe- Spider-Man,” Harry stutters, “We should get you somewhere safe, you’re in no condition-”

“Stop,” Peter says softly, pushing Wade and away and standing under his own power. “This is _ my _job, been doing it a hell of a lot longer than you. Who do you think you are-”

“If you’re not leaving,” Harry says earnestly his voice cracking, “Then neither am I.”

Afraid but strangely touched, “You don’t have to do this,” Peter tries again.

Harry turned toward the on coming hoard of aliens, “Right now? Yes I do.” then he was off, sprinting to the front of the pack of heros and is the first to land a punch on the incoming swarm.

Peter ducks down just as Wade draws a sword with his good arm and takes the side without an appendage to draw attacks from that side, and it doesn't take long until Harry is back. The three of them circling and moving together like they've been doing it all their lives. Like everything was leading to this.


	15. Chapter 15

_ You are a beautiful place to place a kiss. _

_ The sweep of your skin, the tangle of your hair. _

_ You are a sweet thing to love. _

_ So easy I could do it with each breath, _

_ like they just go hand in hand. _

_ I’m happy you’re here. _

_ Happy that I’m yours. _

  
  


~~~~.~~~~~

Spider-Man slumped against Deadpool. His whole body singing out a tired, sore song of pain. He doesn’t entirely remember how he got on Deadpool’s back, the huge merc’s hands under his knees the only thing keeping him from sliding off to the floor, because Peter' s arms feel like limp noodles as they hang haphazardly over Wade’s shoulders, his gloved hands brushing against bare, scarred skin because most of Deadpool had been destroyed for a few minutes after being literally blown up in a few explosions. The huge man barely had on his red leather and spandex pants, and most of his weapons are missing. His swords and sheaths are looong gone, lost somewhere out there in the wreckage of what is left of the city, and he hasn’t stopped whining about it since Spider-Man came to lift off a bus from his prone form a few (unnamable amount of time) ago.

The sun was setting, and the light pierced through the smoking buildings and the debris in the air, directly into Spider-man’s eyes, which is disconcerting because the alien invasion had started sometime during the evening and it seemed it would be night again soon.

Peter groaned and turned his tired head into Deadpool’s neck, shielding his streaming eyes both from the light and the total desolation that was New York City. He was only aware of his crying in a detached sort of way, his tears unending but quiet.

Also, pain seemed a rather pressing issue as the adrenaline wore off.

It was more than just every muscle in his body hurt, and more than just having watched hundreds of innocent people die before he could step in-between them and an alien army, it was more than the mother fucking alien invasion, more than coming to the realization that there is a very good chance that all of his friends and family are dead because the fight stretched so far outside the city. It was more than all of that. His pain was deeper than how hard he had been hit, how many times he had been shot with a fucking laser gun, or how many time his heart had nearly fallen out of his body as he stumbled over the corpses of people who were caught out on the street, who fell out of collapsing buildings, who were dragged from the street and killed like animals, who were young and old, adult and children… babies.

It was more like being just barely eighteen. It was more like being an eighteen-year-old kid in a grown man’s universe. He was destined to be over his head. More than a hundred times during the day, Peter had nearly died.

Never before in his life had his healing factor had to heal him back from near death, and it had happened countless times today. Peter didn’t even know his healing factor was good enough when he was under stress that it could rival Deadpool’s, which he was both grateful to know, but unnerved at how many times he had relied on it.

Tears seemed appropriate and so Spider-Man didn’t fight them, he let them cloud the lenses of his bloody, sweat-soaked mask and listened to Karen’s tiny voice whispering soothing sounds, because he didn’t understand words at the moment and she seemed to realize that. He relied on the quiet, gravely quality of Deadpool’s voice as it curled and rumbled under Spider-Man’s cheek and through the rest of his body, to lull away the panic of his body falling apart into a trembling, pained mess. His body releasing all other senses from his hold as they were just unimportant.

Whether he wanted to fight it or not, he was completely at mercy to Deadpool as he carried him god-only-knows where in a piggyback ride.

Through a thick layer of fog (maybe he was unconscious for a while), Peter felt someone else’s hands on him as he lay against Deadpool’s back, and he turned his face away from the warm, dark hideaway that was DP’s neck where Peter could feel his voice vibrate as he talked, to where the blurry vestige that was an exhausted and battered Steve Rogers hovered just out of focus.

He could see the Steve Rogers’ mouth moving, and Karen’s voice quiet is soft, comforting murmuring, but none of the words reached his ears even as Steve gently prodded at Spider-Man’s legs, back, and arms, looking over what wounds were visible to him. Just a few days ago- hell- _ yesterday _, Peter would be fanboying all over the place at getting to meet Captain America, but he just couldn’t find the energy.

Tony, still clad in the Iron-Man suit but sans faceplate, comes out of nowhere and is pushing Steve out of the way and Peter feels himself reach out a hand for him, Tony takes hold of his hand and talks softly to Peter, but still he can’t make out the words. The fact that there is probably something very wrong with Peter suddenly dawns on him and he feels his hand clutch tighter to Tony’s and the other presses against Deadpool’s chest.

He’s trembling, he knows. He distantly recognizes that he is _ freezing _, far colder than the approaching-summer setting sun would call for. His vision is a mess and it’s not just from the tears, and he can’t taste the metallic twang of blood in his mouth that he knows he should, and words are impossible to recognize. His senses are quickly dwindling down to nothing.

He’s going into shock, or he is in shock, Peter’s not exactly sure.

Deadpool should probably put him down.

He needs to elevate his feet, lay down, and get warm, maybe in a better order than that, but still.

Hawkeye is suddenly in Peter’s face and he uses ASL to ask how Peter is feeling and if he is having trouble hearing.

With only one hand for signing and still leaning completely on Deadpool, not to mention a poor vocabulary already, all Peter can say is, “Bad” and “Yes.”

Hawkeye asks if he is deaf or hard of hearing, but neither are quite true. He can hear, words are just confusing in his ear. He tries for “Maybe hard of hearing,” but he’s not so sure how it comes across with only one, trembling hand. Hawkeye relays the info to Tony, who looks terrified.

Peter’s hand drapes back over Deadpool’s shoulder and Peter tried to tuck his face back into his neck as Tony runs his hands on his upper back in a soothing motion, but Tony shakes his head and tries to keep Peter’s attention. Then Peter feels Deadpool start walking again, and Peter watches the tired features of Tony’s face worry over him while he talks, DP’s voice rumbling under Peter’s ear.

He worries if he should fall asleep or not, but he can’t stop himself as his lids flutter closed. He takes comfort in Deadpool’s breathing. The steady ‘push and pull’ feeling it has on Peter’s chest, which was suffering from short and shallow pulls. So, he concentrates on long, slow breaths to match Deadpool’s.

Somehow the ex-merc is Peter’s stability. 

Peter wonders if it was Deadpool’s intention to find Tony or not, the two have never gotten along, but maybe he recognized Peter was more hurt than he himself knew.

Belatedly, Peter realizes that Deadpool’s fingers are entwined with his, his thumb rubbing absently at Peter’s aching wrist, right where his web gland is and as much as the pressure hurts, it sooths as well, and before Peter can stop himself he is sobbing at the tiny bit of relief it brings him, then he is unconscious.

Peter wakes up in a strange dark room in a warm, soft, too big bed and knows he must be tucked in Tony’s penthouse somewhere safe, because Tony is a mother hen no matter what he tries to pretend, and Peter is one hundred percent not fooled. There is no way Peter has been left somewhere for strangers to take care of him, and Peter would be surprised if it wasn’t Tony who must have been checking in on him while he was unconscious.

Peter is not in his suit, and is completely maskless, but he can see a repaired suit on a hanger on the hook by the door. He pushes away the thick blanket on his sweatpants-clad legs and Jarvis’ voice greets him.

“Good morning, Spider-Man. Mr. Stark has been informed of your wakening, he is on his way. ETA ten minutes.”

Peter is relieved his hearing has been recovered, and he rubs away the grateful tears in his eyes. “Is-“ his voice breaks horribly in his throat and he has a fit of gut wrenching coughs. He falls back into the bed as he catches his breath, then tries again, trying to speak as little as possible, hoping Jarvis knows him well enough to get the gist. “Dead…pool?”

“He is not in the premise,” he says too simply, and Peter wants to growl for more details. Jarvis nearly chuckles before he continues, “He carried you to the tower where Mr. Stark and Mr. Banner were able to stabilize you, he was asked to leave shortly into their treatments, after his wounds had fully healed, of course.”

"Is…” Peter nearly choked, “…he… alright?”

Jarvis paused as if in consideration, both of them knew Deadpool’s healing factor could bring him back from death.

“He left the building fully healed and has been returning every day to ask Mr. Stark about your condition.” Jarvis added apologetically. “As always, he had managed to slip all surveillance once outside the building.”

Peter sighed and accepted it. “How long… have I… been asleep?”

“You have been unconscious off and on for nearly a week, Sir.”

"What about…" Harry?

"Your fellow hero, Harry Osborn, stayed in the tower for over twenty four hours before his father came to collect him. The younger Osborn stopped by your room before he left but you were still unconscious-"

Tony burst into the room, flooding the darkness with the brilliant yellow light from the hallway. “Spider-Man!” he squawked and hurried into the room flipping on the blinding overhead light.

For the first few minutes, Tony is asking him how he feels and checking all his bandages.

Tony's face is paler and his dark circles darker than Peter’s ever seen. But considering Tony’s probably been up worrying over Peter for a week, it makes sense.

The only injury on Tony is his right shoulder again, his arm in a sling.

Once the Iron-Dad is sure that Peter is fine, he collapses into Peter’s bed and crushes him in a hug that makes Peter hiss at the pressure on his healing wounds but begs him to return it. He wraps his arms tight around the older man and buries his face into his mentor’s shoulder.

“God, Kid,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, warm tears seeping into Peter’s plain gray tee-shirt, “Don’t you _ ever _ do that to me ever again.”

Peter’s voice was already garbage and hoarse to all hell, but the tears slipping from his eyes didn’t help, “Which… part?” he rasped, “The almost… dying… or… coma?”

Tony chuckled and pulled away, wiping tears from his cheeks, “You can barely speak, and you’re still sassing me?”

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice asks from the hallway.

Peter and Tony both turn to her in surprise, she glances between them, some dawning revelations hitting here before she steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

Turning her soft blue eyes on Peter, he is reminded that not only is he not in his mask, but neither Tony or Pepper have ever seen him without it. Yet Tony had called him Spider-Man when he came in the room.

In a distant sort of way, Peter understands. His whole suit had been through hell, there isn’t a doubt in Peter’s mind that at least some of his face had to had been revealed through the rips and burns in his mask. Also, Tony and Bruce would have had to take it off when they were playing doctor and making sure Peter didn’t die.

There probably shouldn’t be a hint of betrayal and panic in the back of Peter’s mind, but there is.

Peter drops his eyes to Pepper’s shoes, watching them hesitate by the door before she’s walking toward him, sitting in the chair by the bed.

She reaches out a kind hand and tips up Peter’s maskless chin up so he’ll met her soft blue eyes. Her features are as warm and inviting as they ever are.

That’s the thing though, if Tony has been Peter’s surrogate parent, so has Pepper. Tony’s all concern and safety, but Pepper is soft, warm, understanding. She’s the one who holds your hand while Tony patches you up.

She smiles a small, teary eyed thing, “Spider-Man?”

Swallowing hard, tears running down his face, Peter nods.

She hugs him sooo softly and Peter starts sobbing into her nice, probably every expensive shirt, and she isn’t that much better off. Tony wraps his arms around the both of them and Peter basks in their warm touch, in their kindness. He feels enclosed in protection, safe and secure.

Pepper smooths down his brown hair as Tony rubs soothing circles in back, “Shh, shh, Honey,” Pepper coos, her voice a nearly liquid velvet, “We got you, Honey, we got you. You’re safe here.”

And it felt so true, it eased away Peter’s sense of betrayal at having his face revealed before he was ready, but if he were honest, maybe Peter never would have been ready.

And thus, he never would have felt Pepper’s fingernails brushing through his hair, felt his forehead against her shirt, or Tony’s fingers brushing away his tears from his cheek.

The soft, weak purring vibrates up Peter throat from his chest and a sad smile tugs at Peter’s mouth when Pepper and Tony hear it. Jumping slightly in surprise, they both pull away, and the purring ends just as suddenly.

The three of them share a moment of just watching each other before Pepper smiles politely and pats Peter’s cheek, wiping her eyes carefully with the other hand, “You get better soon, okay?” She turns to Tony her face achingly serious, “Can I speak to you for a moment out in the hall?”

Tony is obviously reluctant, but he follows after squeezing Peter’s shoulder reassuringly, “Back in a minute, Champ.”

For an instant, he wonders what they are talking about, but once the door was closed, Peter hears Venom struggling to speak, “_ Peter _…”

Peter lays back into the bed, focusing all his hearing onto the symbiote, “What is it?”

The alien’s voice is softer than Peter’s ever heard, a weak hiss that Peter can barely untangle into words, the alien is weak. Very weak. "_ I am sorry I can not heal us better. _"

Peter snuggles back until his bed. "Its okay Vee we'll be okay."

"_ The pain _," the goo complains. 

"I know, most pain pills don't work on us. We'll get through this Venom. We will." 

After a few moments Peter pulled himself out of bed and curled against the huge wall of windows. Only a shadow of Peter's home town on the other side of the glass. The night sky darker than it ever gets in Manhattan because many of the buildings don't have power.

Tears crawl into Peter's eyes.

When Tony comes back he looks a bit flabbergasted to find Peter on the floor, but he works through it quickly and quietly, before sitting down next to Peter and resting a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder.

The young hero noticed Tony had taken off the sling.

Everything felt so wrong..

He wanted his friends. Ned. MJ. _ Harry _.

_ Wade. _

He was lonely and scared and didn’t even know if they were alive or not.

Thank God, Tony doesn’t ask how Peter feels. He just pulls Peter off the glass and against his chest, and just holds Peter like he’s never done. Like Peter’s just a puff of smoke and if Tony even breaths incorrectly, Peter’s just going to dissipate into the air.

Tony leans back against the wall and holds Peter gently.

Once they had been quiet for so long Peter thought Stark had maybe fallen asleep, the older man says, “I brought some replacements for your wristbands, earpiece, and glasses. Put them on the nightstand.”

“Thank you,” Peter whispers.

He surprises Peter by blurting in a whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

Peter pulls his blankets tighter around himself, “You didn’t know the Cathuri would get back in the city if you worked on the weapons.”

“I should have,” Tony says softly, “I should have considered it an option. I was so focused on saving the city, I went and brought the enemy to the front door..”

Peter doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t know where to start.

Tony sighs, “I’m sorry. I’m the reason you’re hurt. The reason the city is hurting.”

“No.” Peter says, placing as much finality in it as he can muster.

"Spid-“

Peter’s throat hurts like a bitch, but he manages a better speaking cadence as long as his voice is quiet, “I promise.. This isn’t your fault… I’m injured because this is my job... I risk my life every night and this is no different… I’d do anything... “

“It still my fault-”

Peter looks up at his mentor, “No, it’s not… But you already know that.”

Tony’s face twists slightly but he doesn’t look away. “Kid."

"Peter.” he corrects.

Tony smiles wryly, "Of course it is. Should have known. Pete and Pep. The loves of my life."

Peter feels his lower lip wobble and he curled into Tony's chest and cried silent tears. Not mentioning when he felt warm tears drop into is hair as Tony held him.

  
  
  


The next day after waking up in the tower, once most of his injuries were almost completely healed, Peter slipped out from his bed and donned the suit Tony had repaired and upgraded.

He was already using the new earpiece and glasses, so he just had to put the glasses in the carrying case and had to fight it into his suit pocket on his waist. His made his stomach look weird, but right now all he cared about was getting the fuck out of here.

He had to.

Karen was eerily silent in his ear, but he didn’t call out for her, his heart too heavy. Instead he blinked back tears and pulled on his mask and ducked out the window, swinging toward home.

He didn’t make it every far before the damage of the city brought Spider-Man down to the street. The skyline was unfamiliar. Buildings that had been there all of Peter’s life were nothing but rubble or severely damaged to the point that it was extremely unwise to shoot a web to swing from on it.

His usual routes of travel were changed and going on foot was far easier and safer until he had more time and concentration to devote to creating new routes through the city in his head.

Peter ducked into a few of his hidey-holes along the way, but the first two were nothing but rubble, the next one picked clean, and the next he only found a pair of ratty jeans a size too big and a too thin tee shirt. His belt, shoes, jacket and pocket change having been raided. He pulled the shirt and pants on over the suit, wanting, more than needing, the security of another layer of clothing, because his suit was quite good at thermoregulation, then continued on. Only stopping at the last hidey-hole to find it unraided, and he pushed it all back into the backpack and carried it with him the rest of the way.

The damage was significantly less the closer he got to his house, the street traffic was less as well, but he still took the back way up the building through a tight alley to his tiny bedroom window.

Peter finally found the nerve to speak as he set down his bag in the dark room. “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter,” she asked kindly. “What can I do for you?”

He blinked back tears and pulled off his mask. Peter’s room was exactly as he had left it, the temperature in the room matching that of outside. “They're not here are they?”

“They are not,” Karen confirmed simply, and Peter felt his lip quiver. "Ned and Mrs. Leeds are upstate at her mother's cabin."

“Fuck.”His heart sank.

Walking over to his dresser, he pulled off his suit and slipped on some clean clothes. Punching his suit and mask in the bottom if the backpack, before he opened his bedroom door to find Ned's door open. 

He went back for his glasses, if only to stall, then crossed the hall to the stairs.

Soft tears were the first to slip from his eyes, the ones that followed where less kind, his throat unhappy as his sobbed as he leaned against Ned's door frame. His shoulders aching from his limited swinging around on webs, and his skin sore from nothing more than his sadness, no reason other than he was feeling crushed under the weight of his loneliness.

Karen was quiet, letting him be alone with his grief.

Downstairs, the front door unlocked and opened.

Peter’s throat was filled with his wild heart. Was it- Could it be- “Ned-“

“Peter?” Harry’s voice rose up from down stairs.

Harry was there a blink later, wrapping his arms around Peter, pulling Peter into his lap, crying into his hair, “Oh my god. Thank god. We thought-- you were gone-- They wouldn't let me back into the tower, Pete-- We were so worried. Peterpeterpeterpeter.” He cried nearly as hard as Peter did. His hands going between curling into Peter’s hair and clutching at his back, arms, hands, face, legs as if to prove Peter was really here.

Peter just nuzzled under Harry’s chin, and tangled his fingers into this expensive shirt as he ruined it with tears and snot.

After what had to be hours, they eventually ran out of tears. Harry pulled them off the floor and carried Peter to his room where he curled up with Peter against his chest on the bed. He ran his fingers through brown locks and stared at Peter’s tired face. He could tell Harry was tracing out the line of Peter’s scars on his face with his eyes, his other scars hiding under clothes. He was relieved to see Harry didn’t look too injured, though he gad stitches on his cheek. Not to mention his eyes looked a little bloodshot and red rimmed from crying.

Peter untangled a hand to brush dark curls from the corner of those eyes. Harry’s hand moved up to grab it, and he kissed at the thin fingers without breaking eye contact. “Thank god.” Harry blinked, “Thank God you’re here. I was so scared you were gone too.” His sad eyes turned down to the scars on Peter’s fingers and his frown deepened and tears rose to his eyes, “I went to every day to see you Pete. Every day.” Peter believed him, knew Harry could and would do that to that for him.

His voice sounded like he had gargled glass, but he managed a scratchy, “I’m so sorry Harry.”

Harry looked back up to his eyes, “Don’t apologize,” he said a cupped Peter’s face, his thumb drawing down the scar from his lips to chin, “Just…” he trailed off. "You're my brother," He says sadly. "I'd do anything to make sure you were safe."

A wicked sun peeked over through the window facing the back yard, but it was blocked by Harry’s shoulder as he turned purposely on his side to shield Peter. This another one of those perfect things about him that Peter could never wrap his head around, Harry just does things, perfect little things that shows how much he cares and pays attention. He recognizes how much Peter fucking hate the light in his eyes and blocks it for him without having to ask, without looking for recognition for it. Sometimes Harry is the unsung hero, the kind, beautiful man who saved Peter all the time in all kinds of ways. Harry found Peter and held him when he needed it most. He was his best friend, the best friend to rule them all.

If only Spider-Man could be half the man Harry was, then the city would be okay…

Feeling like sand paper, Peter’s eyelids slid closed and he nuzzled into Harry’s shoulder and his friend held him tighter.

Harry made a softly wounded noise before he nosed into Pater’s hair again.

Numbness washed over Peter, and he’s sure he stopped breathing, Harry’s gentle fingers, wrapped around his, the only thing keeping him grounded. A few painful tears work out of Peter’s bone-dry tear ducts and spill over his cheeks.

Softly cooing, Harry shushed Peter and held him tighter, until Peter’s face was firmly tucked into Harry’s neck, his arms pinned between their chests and Harry’s body wrapped around Peter like a living blanket. “Shh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. I love you Pete, its okay to cry. You cry if you have to, it’s okay. I love you.” Peter fell asleep, _ finally _, to Harry’s soft voice whispering in his ear.

It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, but Harry was there to hold him through the nightmares

  
  
  
  
  


Peter and Harry are picking through the cupboards looking for food when Ned and Mrs. Leeds come home. They both crush Peter in hugs that settle all the worry in Peter’s heart, even if Ned is wearing a cast on his arm, “-Tripped walking to the car from my Grandma’s cabin upstate.”

But once Ned texts MJ to let her know Peter is home and safe, her, Gwen, and Michelle all turn up in Mrs. Leeds livingroom and the six of them all end up playing video games for hours. It’s honestly not too bad. Even if the conversation between MJ and Harry is stilted, even if Michelle’s shoulder is in a sling and her knee is in a brace or Harry has stitches in his cheek and Peter’s face has some faded scars that weren’t there a week and a half ago. 

They all seem to revel in the existence of their friends, and it’s a good place to be. 

If only Wade could have been there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is mostly my excuse for smut (Peter/Wade). If you don't want to read it, your journey ends here my friend.


	16. Chapter 16

_ Harry almost can't believe it. _

_ Spider-Man is at Harry's side. Small but strong, so strong. Not just in body but in spirit. Never backs down from the fight no matter hard hard he falls, how hard he is knocked down. _

_ Swing after swing he endures the pain. He holds on. _

_ He holds his hand out and picks you up. A friend when you need it. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Harry's best friend. _

_ And Deadpool is… my god he's like Peter's other half. Makes Peter laugh, even when he cries. _

_ He's just as determined. Just as stubborn. Never stays down, never let's Peter out of his sight. _

_ Just as in love. _

  
  
  
  
  


Peter sat at Deadpool’s window on the fire escape.

_ Peter _, not Spider-Man, sat at Deadpool’s window. He was in a pair of ratty jeans, a thin tee-shirt with Harry’s bright-yellow (supposedly gold), extra-special school sweater thrown over it. Also, his faded backpack with his suit was at his feet, as he stared off into the alley below, waiting for DP to get back.

He honestly had no idea if he even would be back. Deadpool could have moved countries if he had wanted while Peter was gone.

But Peter didn’t want to go anywhere else. His shaking fingers dug into the pockets of his oversized jacket where they are met with the soft, Nano-bot infused fabric of his mask.

As Deadpool’s presents entered Peter’s senses, there was no noise or sight to facilitate his pinpointing just that Peter could feel his footsteps vibrating all the weapons on his person, which were a considerable many, and Peter could feel the man humming to himself.

“Karen,” Peter asked softly, his voice dry and painful, “Can you text Wade and tell him there is someone on his fire escape? Don't want to startle him."

“Should I label the message from you?” she asked just as softly.

“Sure,” is all he can say.

Peter hears Deadpool’s phone go off and he does not want to know how Karen got the number to it.

Wade is shocked by the message to his new burner phone. He hasn’t even given the number to Weasel yet, and he’s ready to chuck it at a wall until he sees the message is from Spider-Man, ‘On the fire escape.'

Wade’s heart leaps at Spider-Man’s name on his caller ID and he can’t think. And before he can even try to consider if it is some kind of trap, he is running at full speed toward the alley that leads to the fire escape in his building.

When he makes it to the alley, he can see the small figure clad in a bright yellow jacket slumped on the fire escape. He jumps to the ladder and starts up the rickety metal contraption cautiously, confused to all hell. Only to find a mousey, brown haired teen curled up by his living room window. Long limbs hidden under baggy pants and his too big sweater. 

[Who the fuck is this?]

But - his eyes: soft, light brown- the kid’s face is hitting Wade right in the Deja Vu staring Denzel Washington.

{He’s got full blown Bambi eyes.}

“Godfuckmewitharustypipe,” Wade breaths in a rush.

White and Yellow are quiet and considering.

Wade’s breath hitches at the sight of iconic red mask poking out of the kid’s yellow jacket.

No.

{AAAAHHHHHHHHH-}

[Hey, look. He’s not dead.]

Nononononono.

{AAAAHHHHHHHH-}

[I would like to second Yellow’s reaction.]

“Thirdsies,” Wade whispers. 

“Hey, Wade,” a familiar voice burst into Wade’s chest, opening him up like a can of sardines. Spider-Man.He can’t -he couldn’t -this can’t be-

{Oh my god, I am so glad to be wrong! Spider-Man’s alive!! AND he’s a fucking babe!}

[Of course, he isn’t dead. You can’t kill an ass that great.]

Spider-Man can’t be…

[Oh my _ god _. Stop crying. You’re embarrassing me in front of the readers.]

{No, no. You cry it out big man. He’s too smol, I understand.}

[Be a man!! Suck it UP!]

“Wade?”

{NO! You go hold that little bastard’s hand. He needs you!}

His eyes are fixed to Spidey’s alter ego… He’s nothing like he imagined… not even his wildest dreams could have conjured this hauntingly familiar face.

The freckles, they were perfect. A soft scatter over his little button nose and over his soft cheekbones. His mouth was a perfect pink, even as it curved in a frown that made Wade feel fondness rise up agressively. His skin was pale even if the circles were dark under his eyes. And his messy brown hair? He doesn’t know how he had not foreseen it, it was as if he had handpicked it from god.

The kid was thin under his clothes though, more so than even Spider-Man had been the last time he saw him. His boney fingers looking so delicate, and not at all like the sort of things that when balled into fists could kill Wade with a single punch.

Wade couldn’t honestly tell if the kid was of age or not, and that bothered him to no end. Spidey looked so innocent, so tiny and fragile.

Not like a man who had tortured Deadpool with snarky comments, with actual love. Who had faced off an alien invasion alongside him, and nearly died as he wheezed against Wade’s neck, his body going into shock. Not a man Wade had envisioned as he fell in love. Not a man who had captured and enamored bits and pieces of Wade until he had all of him, until Wade had longed for nothing more than the sound of his self-righteous voice, the sturdiness of his arms, the pride of knowing he was breaking down the walls of a man so much greater than himself. That if he proved himself _ just one more time _, maybe he could be saved too.

This kid… he didn’t look like a man at all. He looked like a child. Lost and afraid. Broken and lonely.

Wade didn’t know _ how _ to help him, how to _ save him _. He couldn’t even save himself…

{You could… just hold his hand.} Yellow offered soooo softly. It was so gentle a request, Wade let go of the railing where he had been white-knuckling, and kneeled down in front of the scared looking kid and reached for his hand. Touching it soooo softly. Lovely brown eyes watching him digest.

[At least take off the glove, you big idiot.]

“Always a critic,” Wade whispered.

Yellow was soft again, {Do it, take off the glove. When will you ever get the chance again? He’s so beautiful… like a doll.}

[He looks like a fucking angel, big guy.]

{Look at him. He’s perfect.}

Wade pulled his hand away and ripped at the Velcro at his wrist to loosen the glove and slid it off.

He felt himself start shaking. He had no reason to be this afraid. The kid was needle thin. It was dark. Not to mention Spider-Man had seen so much more of his skin.

“Tell me this is real,” Wade pleaded. “Tell me I’m not hallucinating or something. Just- Just tell me.”

[He’s real.]

{Touch him.}

Wade’s fingers grazed Peter’s and he felt his breath punch out of him. _ He was real. _

“I’m real, Wade i promise.” Peter’s hand turns so it is palm up, and his fingers slide between Wade’s ungloved digits. He doesn’t flinch at the rough texture on his skin or ask about the wet spots on Wade’s mask. He just traces the outline of him with his eyes before they flutter closed sleepily.

[…Jeesh. He’s crying again.]

{Shut up, White. So are you. We’re all balling our eyes out.}

[Am not! I’m sweating from my eyeballs.]

{It doesn’t matter anyway, He’s so perfect.}

[…I second this motion.]

“Thirdsies,” Wade mumbles in stunned appreciation. 

{Don’t ever let him go away again, Wade. Never ever. I love him.}

“My name’s Peter Parker,” Spidey interjects.

“Wade?” he whispers breathily.

“Yeah?” Wade croaks.

Peter’s free hand digs out the mask half hanging out of his pocket. He hands it to him. “I’m Spider Man.”

Wade glances down at the Spider-Man mask before turning back to Peter who is watching him softly. He puts down the mask and brushes away the hair from Peter’s forehead.

Peter’s little frown softens into a tiny smile.

[Guys?] White sounds panicked, [I remember where we remember him from.]

{OHMYGOD! He's the cutie we saw at the mexican food place with those boho sweats!!}

[I knew it.]

{You did not know that kid was Spidey a week ago.}

[Prove I didn't.]

{Uh-oh.}

“Not now,” Wade pleads softly, closing his eyes. “Please, not now.”

{Heeeey! I want to see the pretty boy!}

[Fine. Later. We’re talking about this later. Just-]

{Open ‘em!}

Wade opens his eyes again and just watches the tiny, broken little thing that is his Baby boy.

He’s almost ready to sell his soul to Satan to make his heart stop hurting so bad when, Peter curls his and Wade’s hand toward his face, where he settles the back of Wade’s hand against his barely open lips. Then Wade thinks he might have to recheck his appointment book for rondeaus with hell incarnate because Peter’s lips are warm and slightly moist as he presses a kiss to the scared flesh.

Yellow and White are enraptured, shocked and awed, and completely in love.

Wade is ever so swayed by them.

Still holding Peter’s tiny hand, Wade crawls into his personal space, not giving a shit about his weapons as he wraps his arms around Peter, who buries his face in Wade’s neck with a wonderful little sigh. Long after Peter’s breaths become long and slow, Wade stares up at the sky, carding a glove-free hand through the softest hair he’s ever touched.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing or if he’s doing anything right, but he’s so scared for Peter- for Spider-Man -for his baby boy. But mostly, he’s scared for himself. Loving Peter might be the most irreversible thing he’s ever done. It’s permeated everything he is. It’s even a part of the voices in his head.

[We have names, you know?]

{Yeah, mention us by name in your internal dialogue or not at all!}

[The big guy does have a point, though.]

{You _ are _ in pretty deep if we’re all agreeing on something.}

It’s a recipe for complete and utter melt down, falling in love with someone so fully.. Wade’s not exactly built for nurturing and caring for another human being, let alone a damaged one.

{Welp, we’re all fucked!}

When his eyes open, Peter grumbles into buff, warm shoulder.“DP?” 

“So, you are awake?” Deadpool sounds hoarse, as if he’s hasn’t spoken in a long time, or if he hasn’t stopped speaking for hours.

“I don’t feel so good,” Peter whines as he cuddles into the hard muscles of Wade’s side. He has no idea how he got in this bed, or how Deadpool managed to lay next to Peter without jostling him awake, but he’s so close. And Peter can feel Wade’s heartbeat strumming all the way to his toes and it is a soft chorus of nervous energy, but Peter is calmed by it all the same.

“It’s probably the brain damage,” Deadpool said with a weird voice.

“Brain damage? You hit your head or something?”

“Probably.”

Peter felt himself go stiff, Peter pushed himself on his knees, his hip still keeping a firm connection to Deadpool’s as he sat back on his feet.

“Good morning, Peter,” Karen said like she did every morning.

Peter rubbed at his face, “Yeah, good morning to you too.”

“You have a much better relationship with your voice than I have with mine,” Deadpool pouts, “They never say good morning, the ungrateful bastards.” He looks off into nowhere as they presumably start arguing with him if his muttered, “No, you deserve it most of the time.” means anything. After a few moments, Deadpool turned to him and sat up as well, though he didn’t move away so his face was closer to Peter’s as a result. He hadn’t removed his mask, Peter acknowledged distantly.

“What time is it?” Peter asks, and Deadpool turns to him in concern. Sometimes he forgets the merc doesn’t know what Karen really is, and everything she does. Like when he doesn’t have his glasses on, she whispers it in his ear. “Six-oh-nine P.M.” Peter repeats out loud.

Deadpool smirks, and pats his cheek, “And here I thought you were losing your touch, Baby boy.”

“Of course not,” Peter shrugged, “They don’t call me Knows-the-Time-Man for nothing.”

“Knows-the-Time-_ Boy _,” he corrects, and makes Peter frown severely.

“Man!” he grumbles sleepily. He removes himself from the bed and is about to amble away to the bathroom when a hand gently reaches for his. The contact is just a hair too slow, but the grazing of his skin startles him out of his sleepiness, because, was that? … It was! Deadpool isn’t wearing his gloves!

He turns back around and grabs _ Wade’s _ hand with both of his, settling back on his knees on the bed. Wade just looks at him silently, his mask unreadable.

“How old are you really,” Wade asks like he’s stepping on a land mine he knows is going to blow up in his face.

Peter sighs, “Eighteen,” he answers completely honestly.

Wade nods softly but says with a soft sort of confusion in his voice, “Baby boy, you look younger than that.”

Peter brings the man’s hand to his face, resting his mouth against the warm, scared skin. “I like to blame my mutation for how young I look. I had some enhanced abilities growing up, but when I was fifteen, I was bit by a radioactive spider. It should have killed me, but it just… changed me. Increased my abilities,” Peter shrugged, “gave me new ones. I sometimes joke a baby-face is one of the things the spider gave me, but really it could have just been genetics.”

“So you’re Spider-Man?” Wade asked again unbelieving. Peter frowned and Wade laughed, adding a comforting squeeze to the fingers still curled around his, “Jeesh, calm down. Yes! I know you’re the neighborhood goody two shoes., and I’m just the neighborhood no shoe joe.”

“I… I- you’re weird. The last part of that statement is weird and I want to call you out on it-“

“-You wound me Spidey-“

Peter laughed and Wade hummed. Peter could feel that field of vibration wrap around them like a shroud of contentment. 

Peter hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until he felt Deadpool drawing closer to him, until he felt Deadpool’s head fall against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist.

With a hand on one cheek, he pressed the other cheek to Deadpool’s forehead.

Once again, they were tangled together. Peter’s legs curled against the huge man, his body wrapped in Deadpool.

Wade’s thundering heart like a cool, calming sedative drip down Peter’s spine.

There’s something to say about insanity.

Deadpool is a not sanctuary, he is not a tranquil pool of serenity or a safe place. But he _ feels _ so safe, so true. In his chaos- in his strangeness- Deadpool feels like relief. His pulse is relief.

Insanity is not a perfect place to love him, and maybe, when the pain fades, when the world refocuses and clears like clouds parting after a storm, Peter can…

Peter ducks his chin and runs his nose down the length of Deadpool’s under his mask. Deadpool gasps, and Peter’s heart flips inside his chest.

Love.

He loves Deadpool.

So, so, so much.

No more questions.

No more doubt.

He inches up Wade’s make and presses a kiss over Wade’s mouth.

  
  
  
  


The curve of his lips in a smile, in a frown, in this shy kiss. The aching swallow of loneliness wiped away. It was simple thing, a soft thing, a _ needed _ thing. More a of passing than of staying.

Wade was lost to it. He was lost in that unspoken question that could be nothing other than a kiss.

So, when Peter went to move away, Wade followed.

His scarred fingers curling, loosely at soft cheeks, begging and pleading silently for them to stay. Begging without words for Peter to lead him out to the edge, where black night met outer-orbit, where his fingers and toes tingled out in the vacuum of space. Where the soft break of Peter’s voice as he moaned out a keening sound drew their bodies together, washed Wade away like sand from thin fingers.

Wade had all the potential for control, standing taller, wearing bulkier muscles, holding more experience, but he felt like he was clay in Peter’s tender embrace. The small little thing that was the younger man, carving him open just by existing.

A whimper crawled up Wade’s throat and he pulled Peter into his lap, Peter sliding onto Wade like he belonged there. Stradling Wade’s lap like he never wanted to be anywhere else. Rolling his hips, their cocks brushed through their clothes, making them both gasp in shock and pleasure.

Peter gasped greedily into Wade’s mouth as he rolled his hips again and the merc moaned long and loud, his body alive with electricity, alive with Peter’s touch.

If he had his way, if Wade’s mind could move passed the pure draw that was Peter’s lovely mouth, the swirl of his tongue, the keening, breathy sounds pulled from a bobbing throat, if Wade could pull himself away, he would have torn the very clothes from Peter’s back. Rip into them with his bare hands, with his teeth, lap them away with his tongue.

Back in the day, when Wade had courage and self-esteem, he could have pulled himself together enough do more than paw over Peter’s chest and up his back, squeeze and massage at Peter’s ass through the poor things clothes, but even that pulled Peter tighter against him, rubbing their dicks more firmly together, and Wade wanted it –needed it-- not to end. He feared Peter changing his mind or losing nerve if Wade pulled back even for a single moment.

Wade needed to be touched, and sweet lord almighty, he needed to touch Peter and hear that sweet, soft mewling purr of his.

Peter needed to touch just as badly, needed _ to be _ touched. He shook like a leaf against Wade’s chest, his fingers clutching for dear life on huge shoulders as his hips, guided by Wade’s hands on his ass, rocked with increasing pressure and speed. His moaning loud and unrestrained. He was so far passed unraveling. He was just a mess of sensations, his body screaming for release. His body screaming for Wade.

Wade wasn’t much better, reciting between reckless moaning some half-spoken poetry about Peter’s eyes, his mouth, his ass, his hands, his voice as it cracked against the building, blinding pleasure singing heavier and heavier in the cradle of his hips.

“Wade!” Peter called his voice desperate, his mind latching onto the perfect feeling of the name against his tongue, even as they continued to kiss like their lives depended on it, “Wadewadewadewadewade.”

“Baby boy,” Wade curled against Peter’s tongue. “Yes, Peteypeterbaby yes”

Peter was so close, his body asking for, wanting, needing, demanding release. Mindlessly, he ground his hips into Wade’s almost punishingly, licking into Wade’s mouth like he owned it, his tongue claiming it so. His hands ripping at Wade’s shirt until it tore and then his hands were on the merc’s bare skin and he nearly exploded at the pure relief of it until he was ripped apart by his orgasm crashing into him like a freight train.

The rest of the world didn’t exist after that. It was just him and Wade. His body lighting up and arching and he couldn’t have closed his eyes even if he tried to, tears rolling down his cheeks unchecked, and Peter saw the pure desperation, awe, lust on Wade’s face clear as day, then Wade was coming too, and he was so… he was just beautiful. The light in his eyes, the adoration, the awe, the care, the love, the beauty spilling from deep inside him to paint his wonderful features.

No one in all the world could have been as beautiful as Wade was in that moment, his cock twitching and spilling against Peter’s.

And Wade had poetry for Peter’s lovestruck eyes, and his perfectly shining face, but he couldn’t speak. He had a million words for everything Peter was, what he was right now, just an instant of his pleasure milking his brown eyes honey, his kiss bitten lips releasing sounds of perfect ecstasy. So perfect. Too perfect. Wonderful beyond words.

Then they’re kissing again, the desperation still not gone, but it isn’t a rushed thing, more deep and delving. A question and a promise. A need and an answer.

Slowly, Wade started striping them. Starting with his torn shirt but then moved on to Peter’s then their pants.

Petey whined as Wade laid him out on his bed, completely naked, but Wade made up for it as he licked at Peter’s soft, cum smeared dick. The little things eyelids fluttered, and he moaned opened mouth against his hand.

Finally -_ finally _\- a soft purr curls in the little thing’s chest. It’s soft but warm and happy.

Wade loves how right it feels.

He runs his bare fingers up Peter’s torso, to wrap around the small things waist as he sucks a half-hard cock into his mouth, and feels Peter’s purr intensify as he arches his back. Wade focuses his tongue and watches Peter reacting loudly to the diligent attention to his sensitive member. “WADE!” he cries and moans and purrs.

The little thing is so caught up in the feeling that he almost doesn’t react when Wade finds his lube on one his pouches and slicks up his fingers to circle down below Petey-pie’s sack to find a perfect little pucker.

Other than the intense purr and his raged breathing, Peter goes absolutely silent as Wade breaches the tight ring of muscle, though he doesn’t tighten or resist the intrusion at all. In a purely, Peter move, the little thing goes boneless yet wide eyed as Wade presses his finger deeper and deeper into his body.

Wade pulls his mouth off as he slowly draws out to make sure Peter is okay, but Peter whines grabs Wade’s wrist before he can pull completely out, “Don’t stop,” he begs in a rush, “Don’t stop. Touch.

Wade presses in with a second finger to join the first and Peter gasps and moans a sound porn stars could be jealous of.

Dear lord, have mercy, Peter was loud, unashamed and vibrated with both purrs and pure pleasure. Wade kissed open mouth at Peter’s stomach as he pressed his fingers into his little porn star, and dragged them out as he spread his fingers out to stretch him. It didn’t take much before he was pistoning his hips down to meet Wade’s hand.

He added a third finger that the little thing cried out loud at. His shaking picked up and he only clenched too tight for an instant before he was sliding himself over Wade’s hand.

So perfect.

Wade couldn’t wait anymore. The lubed up his dick and removed his fingers from inside Peter.

The little thing was on him in an instant, pressing Wade’s back to the hard wood as he lowered himself onto Wade’s raging dick.

Peter felt every emotion screaming under his skin and it echoed out his mouth. Never in his life had Peter ever been so full of pleasure, and as he lowered himself into Wade’s hot, thick dick Peter just kept getting fuller and fuller. Wade felt to huge, so big inside of him.

And Peter could feel Venom relaxing his body to suck Wade in. He couldn’t have rejected Wade’s body if he tried. Venom wanted Wade, wanted him so deep, nestled as deep in Peter as he could get. As close to where Venom resided as the man could be.

Venom was silent, but his purr was louder than ever. For now, he didn’t need to say anything. Peter just knew what he needed, what he wanted. The same thing he wanted. Wade. Wadewade. Wadewadewadewade.

Peter fell forward to kiss softly at Wade’s mouth and chin, to feel Wade’s skin on his palms. To drip tears on Wade’s cheeks.

The merc flipped them, so he could slide his deepest into his little Petey-pie’s warm, wet, tight hole. He bottoms out with a deep groan, and Petey is gasping and moaning at every overstimulated throb of Wade’s dick.

Wade kisses his little Petey’s mouth, all wet heat and languid care and Wade can’t hope to stop himself from dumping his load right into Peter’s body.

Petey can feel Wade’s dick pumping out into him, painting his walls with Wade’s cum and his eyes roll back as he arches, gasping and scratching down Wade’s back, as the trail of tears down his cheeks picks up intensity.

“_ Yes _,” Petey gasps, “Yes, fill me. Fill me, Wade.”

Wade moans a desperate noise and his dick doesn’t even consider softening as he starts to pull out before pressing backing into the tight hole to press his cum deeper and deeper into Petey’s body, still riding out a blinding wave of pleasure from his orgasm.

He keeps a slow pace as his works through his orgasm, but Peter’s perfect dick is smashed between their bodies, and he tries to wedge his hand between them to touch himself.

Wade smiles and pulls his hand up his scared lips to kiss at them, clicking his tongue, “None of that yet, Baby boy.”

He starts up a more severe pace into him, and Peter just looks so lost and confused, but so, so aroused. The look forces out another sluggish shot of cum from Wade, but he keeps fucking into Peter.

“_ Wade _,” Peter begs, “OhmygodWade.Please!”

Looking to Peter’s perfect face, Wade reaches between them and wraps his fingers around Peter as he continues to piston into the little thing and whispers, “Cum for me Peter.”

They lock eyes and Peter’s tears don’t stop as his mouth falls open and he arches his back as he cums hard and fast, his little hole clenching tight around Wade’s dick, pulling Wade over the edge for the fourth time.

As Wade comes back to himself, he realizes he is completely collapsed on top of Peter, but Peter seems perfectly at ease with being trapped under him. Peter’s thin arms draped over wade’s shoulders, one of his legs limp on the wood floor, the other wrapped loosely around Wade’s hip and heel hooked around his thigh, a loud purr still tumbling around them.

Peter’s face his tucked safely under Wade’s chin, and Wade raises himself slightly so he can look down at him.

With wonderful endorphins and post coital chemicals running rampant, Wade can just bask in Peter’s wonderful trust and take in his face that Wade tries his best to memorize. The brows, the cheeks, the placement of every freckle, the kiss swollen lips, and the scattering of white, healed scars. Everything.

It’s all perfect. Perfect because it belongs to Spidey- to Peter- to Peter Parker AKA Spider-Man AKA God’s gift to mankind AKA worth everything life has to offer.

Wade kisses Peter softly on the mouth, not expecting reciprocation, but receiving a soft kiss in return as Peter’s eyes flutter open with a soft smile.

Wade realizes Peter is at least a bit incoherent at this point as he looks deep in Wade’s eyes. Peter lets out a small sound, close to a sob as tears well in his eyes.

Peter flinches like he wants to hide but doesn’t. He reaches up swipes at Wade’s cheek as if it were the ex-merc who was crying. Wade wraps him in his arms, letting Peter hide his face in Wade’s neck where he curls them both under the blankets.

Maybe this is happily ever after?

Rusty walks into Wade’s room without knocking, “What the FUCK!? MY EYES!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if you hated it, and sorry the smut was mostly in Wade's POV writer's block really got me when it came to Peter so i gave Wade a whorl, but i think i got my point across. Anywho... bye until the next one, or until i start going crazy and try to edit anything/everything that i kinda wish i could have done better, but didn't. Siiiiiiigh. 
> 
> comments? kudos? Want to rip me a new one? Bring it on.


End file.
